


Man I Used to Be

by jendavis



Category: Leverage
Genre: Abduction, Drama, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 126,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The present's a mess, and the past isn't helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fanmix/soundtrack available [here](http://jendavis.livejournal.com/53182.html#cutid1)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to cybel for the cover art! :)

Eliot couldn't stop himself from checking the clock again. Nate and Sophie had gone down to meet a new client over an hour ago, and it was getting late.

He frowned again at the book he'd brought over, which so far had totally failed to provide any sort of distraction as it sat on the chair's armrest.  He considered picking it up again anyway.  

It was a moot point, though, because Parker had stolen his glasses. She'd stared all over the room in amazement for a while, cracking the obligatory jokes and getting Hardison to stop what he was doing and take a picture, before suddenly dropping to the couch and falling asleep. She was still wearing the glasses.

Eliot wasn't bored enough, yet, to find out if she was the type to react violently to being woken up. For lack of anything better to do, he forced himself out of his seat to water Nate's plants. Outside, the sky was dark, and the lights had come on up and down the block, but mostly he saw the interior of the apartment reflected back at him.

It was a little claustrophobic. A little quiet, except for the typing coming over from the kitchen table.

Hardison hadn't said anything for nearly an hour, now, which had to be some sort of record. For all Eliot knew, whatever he was doing might have actually been important. Or it could have been a video game. Not like he could tell the difference, most of the time. But he was standing, there, now, and could see the screens, and there wasn't any reason not to ask, anyway.

"What are you doing?"

"Monitoring and cleanup."

"What's that mean?"

Alec glanced up, briefly distracted, but didn't stop typing. "The usual."

Eliot rolled his eyes, but leaned in to look over his shoulder. "What's _that_ mean?"

"Making sure the jobs we cleared  _stay_ clear. Checking the local news, scanning security updates. Just the usual police reports and the like." Hardison gestured at the screen. "Like here. I'm looking at emails and internal memos to make sure no one's following up on the strangeness they saw at the auction house last week."

"We got out of there fine."

"A car exploding in the middle of the _street_?" Hardison snorted, shaking his head. "How is _that_ fine?"

"Does that-" Before Eliot could finish, the apartment door opened, and Sophie's heels were clicking sharply across the floor.

"I." Sophie broke off, startled by Parker's sudden movement on the couch. "The clients have only _just_ arrived, and they're beginning to fill Nathan in." She stifled a yawn, shaking two aspirin out of the bottle from the pantry. "I'm going back down there, but he agrees that it's best that we take this up in the morning." Clearly too tired to care about their thoughts on the matter, she made her way back towards the door.

"But I'm wide awake now!" Parker complained, swatting the strange frames from her face and staring down at them once they'd fallen onto the couch. A moment later, she seemed to recognize them, picking them up gingerly. She returned them to Eliot as if sure that either they or Eliot would explode without further provocation.

Handoff made with no detonation, she said good night, before following Sophie out the door and down the stairs.

Eliot was about to do likewise when he realized that Hardison hadn't started typing again, regarding Eliot expectantly, clearly confused.

He realized, then, that he hadn't moved away, that he was still looming over Hardison's chair. Gesturing at the screen to cover a backwards step, he asked, "That happen a lot? People talking after we leave?"

Hardison cocked his head and resumed working, flipping from an open police report to something called a WHDH 7 Call Log. Eliot squinted at the screen, glasses forgotten in his hand, trying to make sense of it and failing. "Often enough to cut into my raids, man. How a brother's supposed to have _any_ sort of social life when he's gotta go around cleaning up after ya'lls mess is seriously beyond me."

Eliot was torn between defending himself against what seemed like a vague accusation, and guessing that Hardison was probably right. He didn't have to admit it, though.

But there wasn't anything else to say, either. And, and since Sophie'd dismissed them, there was no reason to linger. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, listening to make sure his keys were still in the pocket. "You have fun with that. I'm out."

\---

_"I am looking for Nicola."_

"Who shall I say is calling?"

"An old friend with new information."

\---

Eliot regarded the bar from a safe distance across the street. It didn't look that much different from McRory's. The same brick face and neon signs hung in tinted windows. Inside, people were drinking and talking and shooting pool, like any other Tuesday night. There was no threat.

Well, there was, but it wasn't the kind he was used to.

He looked up the street again, waiting for the light to change. Wound up watching the walk signal cycle through from _walk_ to _don't_ , and told himself it didn't matter. That he could be anyone, walking in there. It was just a beer, didn't have to mean anything.

_Pull the other one._

The signal looped around again, and he cast a look up the street, past the pedestrians towards the church on the corner. There was a middle-aged woman waiting at the bus stop, and across the street, two punks hauled guitar cases up the fire escape. The intersection didn't look much different from the way it had last night. Not a whole lot changed in a day.

But some things had to.

_Do this or go home._

The signal was flashing as his feet began to move, but he didn't quicken his pace. And he didn't slow as he stepped up to the door, grabbed the handle, and went inside. Like ripping off a bandage in reverse.

He scanned the tables and high-backed booths as he passed, just enough for a rough head count, nothing more. The horseshoe shaped bar was an island in the middle of the room, separating the tables from the open space beyond the pool table that was probably a dance floor on weekends.

Eliot chose a stool that had line of sight on the door, and nodded at the bartender pouring drinks down the line. He ordered a lager when it was his turn, watching the bartender pull the tap, when someone sat down a few seats over.

"I'll have a Tom Collins, and I've got his beer." Eliot looked up, puzzled to see the older man grinning back at him through a neatly trimmed beard, more gray than brown. "You made it in," he said, sliding a twenty towards the bartender. "Congratulations."

"What? No. I mean, thanks, but-"

"Too late," the bartender smirked, turning away towards the register, apparently accustomed to the scenario, and Eliot wanted to tell him _no, it's not like that._

The man was assessing Eliot with a wry grin. "Thought you were going to stand around outside all night. Again."

"Don't know what you're talking about," he fought the urge to growl. Pulled it off, more or less.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, accepting his change from the bartender and leaving a tip. "Consider it a welcome, and no, I'm not making a pass at you." He tilted his head back, nodding vaguely behind him. "My partner, Lee, is over playing pool."

"All right. Thanks." Feeling like he was missing the plot, he figured he should say more. Figured he should have put together a halfway decent cover before walking in. "Name's Eliot."

"Ron," the other offered, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

\---

Eliot surveyed the table, lining up his shot. He'd have to bank it, but it was doable. And if he missed, it didn't matter. They weren't even playing for money. But it was good, listening to Lee tell stories about an idiotic coworker, while Ron chalked his cue idly, listening to James, their fourth, rant about getting laid off.

It was a thousand times less awkward than the preceding conversation had been.

_"So. Eliot," Ron ventured, watching the bartender pour their second round, "This your first time in a gay bar?"_

Eliot scanned the room in the mirror behind the bottles, a little relieved that no one else seemed to be taking notice. "It's that obvious, huh?"

Ron caught Eliot looking, amused. "I don't know what you're expecting, but this is pretty much it. It's not like there's a hazing or anything. Though if you feel like torture, tomorrow night's karaoke, and Lee thinks he's Chris Isaac."

"No thanks."

That had been the end of it, and here on the quiet side of the bar, away from the tables, it was a little easier to pretend that this was any other night out, that this was any other bar.

He sank the shot, but he hadn't left himself enough space to ensure the next one going down smooth. No one said anything when he missed, though, and when he stepped back to see what was keeping Lee from taking his turn, he saw them breaking apart from a casual kiss.

He knew he'd been caught looking, and they were sharing a glance that could have meant anything, but probably translated roughly to _don't scare off the greenhorn._

He smirked, careful not to look thrown, and stepped around the corner of the table to watch James line up his shot.

As Lee was stepping away from the table, Eliot felt a tap on his arm, and looked up into the face of a smug looking blond kid.

"Yeah?"

The kid nodded down to the tray he was holding, and the pint of lager balanced in the center. "The gentleman in green, over at the bar, sent this over for you."

_Oh hell._

It was bad enough that he'd already let one stranger buy him a drink, but this one, he hadn't even seen get poured. Very aware of the knot forming in his stomach telling him that his evening was about to go south, he accepted the glass and faked a smile.

_It's not like anyone in here can make you drink it._

"See," Ron leaned in towards Lee, his voice an amused stage whisper. " _Told_ you it wouldn't take him long." Eliot rolled his eyes and sighed. In a moment, he'd probably have to go say hello to yet another benefactor, if only to say _thanks, but no thanks._

Lee was looking towards the other side of the bar, asking James,  "Did he say he's wearing green?"

"Yeah." Eliot nodded, and watched the surprised expressions spreading across their faces.

"Holy crap," Ron pulled his face together, trying not to laugh.

"He _never_ -" Lee, on the other hand, seemed puzzled.

"Oh, _hell_." James said, apparently deciding that Eliot was allowed in on the conversation.  He waved him closer, leaning in conspiratorially as he spoke. "It seems that the world's friendliest ice queen, pardon the term, is sweet on you."

Eliot rolled his eyes and turned towards the bar, not even knowing what it was that he didn't want to see.

When he found it, he blinked again, just to make sure his head wasn't playing tricks on him. But the confused frown, the hard line between the eyes staring back at him, were too definite to ignore. " _No_ ," he decided, swiveling his head back towards the others. "He ain't sweet on me."

"Right," he heard Ron calling after him, but he was already crossing the floor towards the bar. Drew himself up a little taller in an attempt to loom over his apparent benefactor.

"Hardison."

\---

Hardison's voice was angry and quiet. Eliot had to lean in a little to hear him. "If you're running a game on them, _stop_. Ron and Lee are good people.  James too."

Eliot hadn't been prepared for the accusation.  "If you're so concerned, why didn't you come over and stop me?"

"Don't know what you're up to, and ain't lookin' to complicate things. But I am _not_ gonna sit and watch you screw over my friends, man."

"Ain't runnin' no _game_." Eliot growled, just loudly enough that he wound up attracting the attention of a couple two tables behind them. "Just came in for a drink, is all."

Hardison raised an eyebrow and snorted. "You're telling me that this place just _happened_ to be on your way home?"

"Depending on the route, yeah." Eliot replied, knowing it was a weak response at best, and still not knowing what exactly they were clashing about. "What are you doing here?"

Hardison looked at him like he was being dense, then rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Aw hell. This is gonna be awkward, ain't it? Sit your ass down, you're making me nervous."

Eliot smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"No, but you're looking twitchy too, and that bouncer over there?" Hardison nodded towards the door behind Eliot. "Mike? He's lookin' over here like he's waiting for you to cause a fuss."

Eliot waited for the inevitable grasp on his shoulder that presaged every bar fight he'd ever been in, but it never came. He decided to sit down. "Wouldn't want Mike to get the wrong idea, now, would we?"

Hardison said nothing for a moment. "So, if you're not in here on business, you're here…"

"Yeah." Eliot forced himself to take a drink, all too aware of what he was admitting to. It was the closest he'd come, so far, to saying it out loud. His hands were sore from gripping the glass so tightly, but the sigh he let out sounded more like irritation than calming breath. "You gonna be a pain in the ass about this or what?"

"Nah, man. Chill. I'm just."  Hardison floundered.  "Gotta ask. This a new thing?"

Eliot's scowl deepened, and he fought the urge to look around. "Why, I stick out that much? Everyone's-" At Hardison's look, he relented, placing his glass carefully on the bar, centering it on the damp cardboard coaster. "Yeah. Well."

"It's been a long time coming," a voice cut in, and Eliot turned to see Lee and Ron grinning at them from down the bar. "He chickened out last night."

" _And_ last _week_ ," another voice piped up from the bar, practically singing the words, but Eliot couldn't locate the source, not with all the amused faces staring back at him.

He was about to stand- he was about to do a lot of things more violent than standing- when Hardison grabbed his arm, looking over his shoulder to call across the room. "Yo man! Ease up and mind your damn business."

"This was a bad idea." Eliot shook Hardison's arm off, ready to leave.

"Chill, man. Give me a minute to figure this out."

"You let me know how that works for you." Eliot snorted, taking the moment to think.   Turning back to Hardison, he looked at him directly for what was probably the first time all night. "I didn't know about you, either, you know."  As deflections went, it was weak, and he knew it.

Hardison shrugged, but met his eyes. "Never came up." Eliot wasn't sure what it was that Hardison saw on his face, because a little of the overbearing humor dropped away. "Short version. Figured out I'm more fluid than most a long way back. The end."

He raised his drink to his lips quickly, in a move so like Nate, that Eliot found himself worrying for a moment. But Hardison didn't drain it before setting it down. He fiddled with the straw, chasing an ice cube around the half full glass, and didn't look at Eliot when he asked, "What about you?"

Eliot slipped his answer in between picking up his beer, and taking a sip. "Still working on it."

For once, there was no retort or rebuttal. Hardison messed with his straw a little bit more, took a drink as the silence lengthened. Eliot wondered which one of them would be giving in and leaving first.

Hardison blinked first. "I ran into Nate before I came over. Looks like we're taking the Bradshaw case tomorrow."

Eliot didn't know whether to be relieved at the change of topic, or angry that he hadn't tried it himself. He grinned, deciding to appreciate it, and scratched at his eyebrow. "Which one's that?"

"Kansas."

"Right." Eliot nodded. "Right. The horse therapy ranch."

Another lull threatened as Eliot considered the bleak prospect of Kansas in the late summer, but once again, Hardison wouldn't allow silence to reign. "Got any ex-girlfriends in the area we should know about?" He was grinning into his drink like he thought he'd won something, and Eliot thought about how easily it would be to take him out with one hit.

"Fuck. _Seriously_?" He shook his head. "You have to keep bringing that up every time we're ten miles away from-" It struck Eliot that he had no idea where Hardison hung out. _Here, apparently.  Like you.  
_  
But Hardison was already too busy arguing to notice the fumble, his irritation clear. "Just trying to make conversation like this _ain't_ the most awkward night of my life."

"Yeah. Well. I can shorten it." Eliot drained his beer and set the glass down. Standing up, probably a little too quickly, he grew suddenly suspicious that he was being the asshole, here. But he didn't know why.

It was throwing him.

"Uh. Thanks for the drink. I'll get you back next time."

Eliot was already on the street before he realized the implication.

Next time.

 _Fuck_.

\---

_"It is a pleasure to hear your voice. It has been too many years."_

_"Time enough for the scars to heal, yes?"_

_"Indeed. To what do I owe the honor of your voice in my ear?"_

_"I have found the man you wish destroyed."_


	2. Chapter 2

  
The crew was gathered in the living room but for Eliot, who didn't move from the dining table. As soon as Nate had their attention, he began to explain.

"See, this land has been getting bought off in bits and pieces for years. Our clients, the Bradshaws, were leasing the land beneath their ranch under an old agreement that's being grandfathered out."

"So what's our angle?" Parker puzzled at the pictures on the screen, her lip curling when she noted the horses.

"Roger DeWitt. Modern day land baron, though according to an ongoing investigation I shouldn't know about, you could call him a robber baron as well. Made his fortune in the development business. See. He goes in, loots known sites before the survey happens. The archeologists doing the excavation report back that nothing was found, and the project goes ahead smoothly, even ahead of schedule, which generally results in generous bonuses from grateful corporations."

Hardison cut in, bringing up another screen of DeWitt's financials. "And on the side, he's got a nice income selling the looted goods."

"We're going to bust him _how_?"

"We steal the artifacts he's already stolen, and plant them around the survey area. He won't be able to say anything about it without giving himself away."

"Hold on," Hardison interjected, his thumb pausing over the remote control. "I've seen those documentaries. Won't the archeologists know something's wrong with the dirt?"

"What the hell're you on about?" Eliot cut in.

"You know. Like how there's layers of dirt. If it looks like it's disturbed, it will give it away." Hardison was on a roll. "And what if they carbon date the stuff?"

"They won't," Nate promised, his voice self-assured. "Not as long as we're the ones finding it."

"How you propose we do that?"

"They've only put out a request for bids just this morning. There are three local companies that usually compete for this sort of thing."

Eliot sighed. " _Seriously_? Another collector job? This makes four in a row, man."

"Don't tell me you're missing the gunrunners already."

Eliot smiled at the wall. "They were fun."

"You're starting to sound like Parker," Hardison deadpanned, glancing over his shoulder to find Eliot sneering coldly back at him.

"No!" Waving her arms, Parker seemed similarly offended. "He doesn't do it right at _all_!"

"Hardison? Parker?" Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "Please stop teasing Eliot."

Eliot's scowl deepened. "I'm going to kill all of you someday."

"Even me?" Sophie looked up from her notepad.

Eliot bared his teeth. "No witnesses. Sorry."

"Hang on a moment," she was ignoring him as she scanned her notes again. "If what we know is true, then haven't the Bradshaws already been using the land long enough to have destroyed the site themselves?"

"The stables and associated buildings are on this patch of land here," Nate explained, pointing out the area on the map. "The rest of it's just grazing and a few riding arenas, so there was little to no disturbance of the ground underneath for most of the area."

"I see."

"So what do you say?" Nate addressed the group.

Parker raised her hand hesitantly. "What happens if we accidentally discover a mummy or something?

"All the better." 

\---

The rest of the meeting was standard protocol. Getting travel arrangements made, putting aliases in place, and scanning the nearest town, Bethany, for useful contacts.

"It's a holiday weekend, flights are almost booked solid. There's a flight into Kansas City tomorrow, but there are only two open seats. There's another flight in two days going through Des Moines, but the drive times are about the same from both. Logistically speaking, it ain't pretty-"

"Splitting up is safer, and you _know_ it," Eliot interrupted, his tone scathing. Alec bristled, ready to argue, but Nate intervened, clearing his throat.

"There's only one hotel anyway. But here's what we'll do. Sophie and I will head out tomorrow and start laying the groundwork. The rest of you fly in on Friday, and we'll meet at the hotel."

"We should figure out somethin' else. I don't like us all in the same place," Eliot said. "Attracts attention."

"Our cover can handle it," Alec said.  "Quit being paranoid."

He'd probably pushed a little too far, but Eliot's voice was dead calm when he replied. "Fine."

"Okay," Nate clapped his hands together.   "Hardison. Make the arrangements. The rest of you? Get your things in order. We're going to make history."  He rose, ignoring more than one set of rolled eyes, and the group began to scatter, Eliot cutting a dark swath through the apartment as he left. Eventually, Alec was left in front of the screens, pretending not to notice Nate looming behind him, standing beside the couch.

The man had something to say, it seemed, and Alec had a sinking suspicion that he knew what it was going to be. Nate remained silent while Alec worked, but his words, when they eventually came, were no surprise. "You got a problem with Eliot?"

"No, man." Alec glanced quickly up and away, shutting down his computer. "We're cool."

"Don't bullshit me, Hardison. I need to know that you two are on the same page."

"Oh, we are _totally_  cool," Hardison assured him grimly, and started packing up his computer.

\---

 _Yeah. Totally on the same page_. Alec had said. _Just going to take some getting used to, is all._

 _Oh, and by the way, I know something about Eliot and have the sneaking suspicion that I'm not supposed to live to tell the tale. What is it, you ask? You ain't gonna believe this…_

 _Shit.  
_  
It wasn't the first time Alec had discovered something someone had wanted kept buried, not by a long shot. It wasn't even the first time it hadn't happened sitting in front of a computer.  It was, however, the first time he'd try to file it away into the sparse cabinet at the back of his head labeled _not for use._

He made it out of Nate's apartment without further conversation, but he didn't start to relax until he was down the block. Nothing had been said, nothing given away. He could go home, get ready for the next job. Get on with it, find something else to think about.

So it could only have been the imp of the perverse that pushed him through the door of the bar two nights in a row, especially when the second proved to be karaoke night. The caterwauling nearly knocked him on his ass before he made it past the first table.

He nodded greetings to those he knew, but there wasn't anyone in particular he was searching out. Since he didn't find anyone in particular, everything was working out, perfectly according to plan.

 _Like he's gonna show his face in here again. Like you want to find him in here in the first place. He shows up here, and then what? Ain't like he's just gonna want to sit around talkin' all night. It's just askin' for trouble, man, and you know it._

"Hey Alec," Shane was wiping down the bar. "What're you having?"

"Pint of Blue Moon," he decided, pulling out his wallet.

Shane nodded, eyeing him speculatively as he reached for a glass. "Just one?"

Alec blinked, giving away his confusion. "Uh, yeah."

"Thought you might be waiting on your friend from last night," Shane shrugged, tossing a coaster down under the glass and accepting the cash Alec handed over. "Definitely more interested than you were when I tried hooking you up with Anthony."

"That's because there's no accounting for your lack of taste. But no. He's just a coworker." _Who's killed at least six people, and saved too many to count. Who's taken seven bullets that were meant for him and one that wasn't. Who's nervous enough around explosions that he's probably been in more than one. Who'd gotten a landline to his house the week he'd moved in, but never made any calls._

Alec remembered some conversation, back in the old office, before they'd blown it and blown town. They'd been talking about Sophie's performance on stage the night before, and Eliot had said something about it being the worst night of his life.

He'd been lying through his teeth, and they'd both known it, but he didn't defend or elaborate.

So, something else he knew about Eliot. He let people see what he wanted them to see, and nothing else. It wasn't a trait reserved only for the marks.

\---

 _"Are you offering your services?"_

 _"Merely information. Further direct contact would raise suspicion, and I am no fool."_

 _"Indeed. Are you sure it is him?"_

 _"I am without doubt."_

\---

Three fifths of the team was still stretching out muscles cramped from sitting in coach and driving for two hours, but all the pieces were in place.

Nate was heading in to DeWitt's office, and Sophie was waiting at the hotel. Hardison had been adamant about setting up base at a nearby library, and would be meet up later with Eliot and Parker in the hotel lobby to check into their rooms.

But for the moment, Eliot was sitting in the rental car, wishing he could get out and stretch his legs, and trying to appreciate the first ten minutes he'd had to himself since early this morning. It wasn't as easy as he'd expected, but at least now, with everyone spread out, the only communication happening was through the comms.

It was an improvement over the ride down from the airport, watching Hardison out of the corner of his eye every time he looked at or spoke to Parker. Reading her expressions in the rearview mirror and trying to figure out whether they really had a secret code between them.

As far as he could tell, Hardison had only talked about the job. He hadn't mentioned anything else, and none of Parker's strange answers seemed to be more than basic responses.

It was Parker, though, so who could tell. It had been a relief when she'd slid out of the car and across the street towards DeWitt's house.

Nate's voice came over the line. "Parker? Eliot? How you doing?"

"All clear at DeWitt's place," Eliot grumbled, already bored. "Parker's inside. Nothing out here that Hardison couldn't handle."

"Well I got a bunch of stuff here that you couldn't handle, Eliot, so you just sit out there and enjoy babysitting." Hardison's voice cut in. Apparently the library had the wireless connection he'd been complaining about needing as they'd driven into town.

Eliot could see Parker's shape through the half-open blinds as she walked through the house. "This place house is a museum, without the security or nice lighting. How am I supposed to know what to take? Also. Eliot would be a terrible babysitter. He'd scare the kids."

"Probably wouldn't let them play video games, neither," Hardison agreed.

Eliot rolled his eyes in annoyance, considered not taking the bait. "Nah, see. Wouldn't want the kids turning out to be total geeks or anything."

Eliot heard Sophie giggling softly to herself as Nate reined them in. "I'm outside DeWitt's office, so Hardison, you're point on this one."

Hardison's voice, when he spoke, was all business again. "He's been working exclusively in the region, so his collection should reflect that. Hang on, I'm looking at the historical society accessions…"

Sophie cut in. "Go for anything that's packed away."

"If it's valuable, wouldn't he be showing it off?" Hardison's voice again.

Nate's speech was suitably formal for playing a stereotypical academic. "My name is Doctor James O'Toole, I'm from KU. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"DeWitt can't risk it," Sophie responded, ignoring Nate's words to DeWitt. "He's like anyone else on the black market. Can't risk having any of the locals seeing the items. He's been getting away with this long enough that he knows to keep things hidden. I'm at the college now, about to meet with Doctor Harrison."

"Right. Okay, I'll try the basement." Parker, from the sounds of it, was already elbow deep in the boxes. Eliot leaned back in his seat and scanned the driveways and front yards of DeWitt's street, again looking for potential witnesses. The house two doors down was fore sale, the realtor's name and number emblazoned across a metal sign in the front yard, decided that he was looking to buy a house, if any one asked.

Other than that, though, he just sat there and wished he had something to do, besides listen to everyone's noise and chatter. They knew as well as he did that there wouldn't be much for him to do, not during this phase. The only reason he was here something Nate had called shovel insurance. _You don't keep a shovel in the back of your car, you're gonna get snowed in._

Stretching his neck, he turned his attention to the comms again, Eliot listened to Nate describing the weeklong field school the college was setting up, while Sophie explained the Department of the Interior's ongoing investigation into the deliberate destruction of archeological sites.

"Let me guess. It's that bastard DeWitt," a man's voice said, barely audible through Sophie's mic. "How can I help? We don't have an archeology department."

Sophie's voice, much more clearly, fed directly into the comms. "We've already got Doctor O'Toole, from KU in Lawrence, who's worked with us on cases like this before. If anyone from DeWitt's office contacts you asking if he works here, I simply need you to explain that he's here on loan to run a field school for a few of your students in the history and multicultural studies department."

Eliot couldn't hear what was said next, as the noise of Parker rummaging through boxes was getting in the way. "… will there actually be a field school?"

"Yes, but it will be our archeologists in attendance." Sophie began to explain the plan further, but Eliot found himself drifting off, watching the trees outside and only coming back to the conversations when he heard Hardison's voice.

He was introducing himself as Daniel Jackson, the alias he'd been way too excited about using. Eliot thought he was pushing it a little, cracking jokes about pyramids and artifacts, even if he was supposed to be an archeologist. Student. Whatever.

Wasn't the smartest thing, interacting too much. Meant someone would remember him, later. Could attach a name to a face, even if it was a fake one.

He wished Hardison would get his act in gear and do his job. Do whatever he did to keep the volume levels normal. It was bad enough when he could hear four people in his head. Adding ambient noise and extra voices wasn't helping.

Nate was apparently sweetening the deal with DeWitt, telling him that the labor was paid for and the state had signed off on the paperwork, all he needed from DeWitt was a project area. Judging by his tone, things were going well on his end.

Eliot was fairly sure that Sophie's professor said something along the lines of"...just need my voice on the line when DeWitt calls," but he couldn't be sure, not over the noise that Parker was making.

"Correct," Sophie replied. "And only _until_ then. Once this is underway, it will be best if you maintain no public knowledge of the investigation. If it goes as we suspect, it would only result in dragging the College's name through the-"

Hardison laughed, then, the sound blocking Sophie's voice. "Right on, sister. You just do what you do, get that ancient database up and working."

From the sound of it, he was talking to the librarian. Scratch that, he was _flirting_. It was damned irritating. He was probably only inches away from blowing their cover, too.

Parker slammed something, a drawer, maybe, or a cabinet door, and it sounded like a gunshot going off.

It was the last straw. "Damn it, Hardison, would you stop geeking all over the librarian and fix the damn comms already?"

"Hey man, chill." Hardison said, but a few moments later, it sounded like the volume controls had been reset. Too late to really matter, anyway. Sophie was thanking Harrison, and Nate was chatting idly about some pottery he'd found north of Lawrence, but he was wrapping it up. There wasn't anything important to hear.

DeWitt was on the hook, and Harrison was in place to back their cover story, so it was time to go. He had the car running by the time Parker returned, a cardboard file box under her arms.

"We clear?" Parker shoved the box in the back of the cab.

"Didn't even have to pretend that I was looking to buy the house across the street."

"See?" She clambered up into the seat, shaking hair out of her face. "Every time there's an instant cover, there's never a need to use it. I hate that."

"You would." Pulling away from the curb, Eliot tapped into comms again. "Parker's got the goods. Leaving the DeWitt place now."

Nate grunted indistinctly, and Eliot could hear Hardison making one last pass at the librarian as he left. Something about coming back from the dead. Sophie, however, was paying attention, and responded directly. "See you back at the hotel."

Eliot finally took his comm. unit out, rubbing at his ear.

"You know where we're going?" Parker asked, making her own earpiece vanish into thin air, or possibly a pocket, as she did so.

"Yeah." He stopped himself from ranting about the stupidity of her question. She'd been in the car when Hardison had explained the directions in excruciating detail.

"Oh."

"What do you mean, _oh_?"

"Before. When he was giving you the directions. You didn't sound like you were listening to him. And you didn't make fun of him while he was flirting with the librarian. You were all," she waved a hand through the air vaguely. "Quiet. Mostly."

"Well it ain't like we're gonna get lost. It's just a straight shot and a left at the gas station." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flash across her expression, but she said nothing more, not even when he turned into the parking lot.

\---

 _"You have Eliot Spencer's location?"_

 _"I do, and it can be yours. For a price, of course."_

 _"Of course. I wouldn't trust it if it were free."_

\---

It wasn't like Alec couldn't get a signal in the middle of the Sahara, if he wanted it, but tables at a quiet library seemed more pleasant than a sitting in a cramped rental car. Sitting for another hour with Eliot, who was just a little too stressed to be as bored as he claimed.

Alec thought the space would have done him some good, but judging by Eliot's voice when he was whining about a little noise, his mood hadn't improved since they'd parted ways.

 _Man needs to do a little reassessment of his priorities. Like he don't know how much worse things could be right now_.

Besides, Joan, the librarian, had either been very nice, or very bored. She found his stuff for him, and laughed at his Stargate jokes, once he'd convinced her that his alias was a coincidence. Plus, she was a redhead. Had this entire late-season-Scully meets mid-series-Willow vibe goin' on. Had Eliot been there, he would have got it. Certainly wouldn't have begrudged a man.

 _Petulant bitch._

The others were leaving, so he finished making his copies and brought his books up to the desk, promising the librarian that if he died over the course of his excavations, he'd come back from the dead and tell her all about it.

He set off to walk the three blocks to the hotel, hooking his cell phone's earpiece into place, in case he found himself having to respond to the comms and didn't want to look like a madman, talking to himself as he headed down the street. There was one update from Nate, who was getting into his car, but the others remained silent.

It was a good sign. It meant there was nothing was going wrong, that there was nothing to worry about. But it was unsettling all the same, and he was relieved to step through the double doors to find Parker and Eliot sitting in the lounge, his backpack waiting in the pile next to theirs.

It didn't last long, though. All it took was Nate's arrival, in character, to inform them of their sleeping arrangements and hand them their room keys. Nate, as the professor, got a single room. Sophie and Parker would share a double, and he'd be crashing with Eliot.

Eliot didn't look thrilled at the news, either, his eyes darting up and away before he leaned down to grab his bag, heading up to their room on the second floor, not bothering to wait. Sophie took one of Parker's bags, offering to show her the way.

"The rooms have numbers on them. I _can_ count," Parker replied, defensively, but she moved to follow.

He leaned down to pick up his pack, weighing the stirring dread at the prospect of sharing space with Eliot against the promise of a functioning shower. Nate, though, was thankfully already running interference.

"Hardison, you got a minute?"

"Yeah, man.  What's up?"

"We've got DeWitt on board, and we've got the gear, but now we need to make it happen. You find what we need?"

"Yeah." He hefted his shoulder bag.  Give me a bit, I can pull it together enough for a crash course." He looked up towards the front desk, just in time to see Eliot already returning through making a bee line for the door. For the moment, the room would be safely empty.

Nate's eyes followed his, and his face held questions, but he spoke to the group, obviously well aware that the others were probably still on comms. "All right. Grab a shower, do whatever, and we'll meet in my room in three hours."

\---

Eliot wandered the streets for a while, eventually finding a park bench to sit and watch traffic. Nodded to the girls who jogged by, but his heart wasn't in it.  It wasn't like he could take them back to the hotel, anyway, though he tried not to go too far along that line of thought. He already knew where it would lead, and who would be in the room when it got there.

Three guys walked by, talking enthusiastically about tonight's game. Wasn't starting for a few hours, but it didn't matter. While he was pretty sure he'd noted that the room had cable, Hardison had probably already commandeered the television. Claimed space in their shared territory.

He looked away when he caught himself watching the taller guy as he passed by, the wide shoulders stretching the cotton of his tee shirt. It wasn't like Eliot was going to make a pass at him, after all. He just wished he hadn't noticed in the first place. Made him feel like a perv, sitting here and ogling people.

Eliot wondered if Hardison was wondering where he'd gone. If he'd already assumed the reasons behind it. It was fairly mortifying, when he thought about it, reeking of cowardice for no good reason. If Hardison had figured it out, though, he wasn't coming on the comms to say so.

He hadn't said anything.

Eliot looked at his watch, noting the time. He had about twenty minutes to get back for the pre-game. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to spend the weekend sitting on his ass.

It was enough time to stop in the café on the corner and pick up peace offerings, Nate's coffee and Sophie's tea and Parker's weird orange raspberry mocha thing. They didn't have orange soda. Eliot knew he could've just left it at that, but he found himself dodging into the convenience store across the street.

It was just liquid. Didn't mean anything.

\---

Hardison grinned no more widely than usual when Eliot slid the six-pack across the counter before distributing the coffees, but Eliot felt the eyes on him all the same, and wondered if he'd just made things better or worse.

He wished they'd get started already.

"Okay. We can't get access to Bradshaw's ranch until Wednesday. Slight hiccup, but manageable. That gives him a few extra days to go over the site and loot to his heart's content."

"I don't get it," Eliot shook his head. "Shouldn't we get out there to stop him?"

"Only if we want to risk spooking him. We've got time on this."

"So what do we do until then?"

"Sophie and I have some more groundwork to lay with the historical society, and Hardison's on research duty. Parker and Eliot, I want you to lay low. Hang at the hotel, watch cable. Read a book. Do whatever."

Eliot considered the days as they spread out before him, bearing entirely too many hours in a hotel room with Hardison.

"You expecting any trouble over the weekend?"

"No. DeWitt doesn't even have the sense to lock away his stolen goods. He's amateur enough not to have hired security, and not popular enough to have many friends likely to serve as backup."

"If that's the case, there's no reason for me to stick around, then, right?"

"Not especially, no." Nate's expression grew suspicious. "Why?"

"I've got work to do back home," Eliot decided, looking sharply up at Nate to forestall any protests. "Not freelancing. Just have some things around the house and some tomato plants that are threatening to take over the neighborhood."

"Can it wait?"

"It could, but I'd rather not leave it. Look. I'll head out on standby and get tickets back for Tuesday night."

"Alright. Fine," Nate decided, glancing over at Hardison, who was studiously staring at his laptop. "You can have a weekend pass. Parker? You want to go?"

"No. There's a quilt show Sunday." Parker happily waved the flyer that she'd picked up in the lobby. "Can you believe that I've never seen one before?"

\---

It was obvious Eliot was trying to escape, but Alec caught up with him in their room.  He wasn't stupid, but he decided not to make it easy, he closed the door, leaning against it as he watched Eliot rummaging through his duffel bag. "What's your problem, man?"

Eliot caught his reflection in the mirror by the television, but didn't meet his eyes, looking instead at the parking lot outside the window. "Nothing's wrong."

"Right. You've been acting like you ain't here since we _got_ here."

"There ain't no reason for me to be here on this one." Eliot took some clothing out of his bag and shoved it into one of the drawers, lightening the load he'd have to carry with him.

Alec rolled his eyes and moved past him towards the other bed, sitting down. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, fine by me."

"You looking to get yourself hit?"

Alec snorted. "And _yet_ , I ain't the one runnin' away all scared. That's _got_ to burn."

Eliot's chin was jutting out, defiant. "Scared of what?"

 _And there it is_ , Alec realized. _He's giving you an opening._

It took him a moment to figure out how to use it.  "Bein' stuck in the same room as me. Like knowin' about you means I'm suddenly planning on _jumping_ you."

Eliot didn't turn, didn't even shake the hair out of his eyes, but his breathing was steady. Like he was tamping down the anger before it got dangerous. "It ain't like that."  Alec wanted to break the threatening silence, but after a moment, Eliot snorted, relenting. "Ain't used to people knowin' stuff about me that I didn't want them to know."  He looked up, then, smirking in annoyance at his own admission and daring Alec to make something of it.

"Know what you mean."  Alec dropped his hand to his side.  "If it's any consolation, if I hadn't thought you were running a game on Ron, I would've left before you saw me."

"Why?"

"I go in there and blow your cover, we _both_ know how you're going to react. _Badly_. And you aren't in the running for, ah, winning the world's friendliest person contest. Ain't like I expected you to take finding me there gracefully."  He laughed it off, but it was apparent that the comment struck hard.

Eliot flinched, insulted. "You thought I was gonna stomp you?"

Alec grinned without humor, and found himself rubbing at his once-broken wrist. "No offense, man, but it's happened before. Wasn't cool." _This isn't where the conversation is supposed to go._

Eliot had noticed the action, but as his eyes moved from Alec's arm, it was obvious that he had no idea how he was supposed to respond. On top of it all, there was the beginnings of something that looked like angry concern brewing in his expression.

 _This really isn't the issue. Drop it._

"Don't worry about it," Alec shoved his hands into his pockets and decided to go for broke, knowing full well that if he didn't say anything now, he probably never would. "Look. I know it's like poison. But. In the unlikely event that you decide you want to talk about it, I'll listen. Otherwise, it's not my business, and I'm not going to make it anyone else's. Deal?"

Eliot sighed, eyes darting to the door as footsteps passed by in the hallway. He nodded noncommittally, but he'd heard. "I'm still leaving."

Alec shook his head, thinking back to the earlier conversation. "Gardening? For _real_?"

"Among other things," Eliot answered evasively, because he wasn't the kind of guy that admitted to needing time to think. "But I'll be back. And. I dunno. Maybe we'll talk about it, maybe we won't."

There were probably a thousand ways he could have replied, but he'd already gone too far, probably.  "Cool." Alec stepped aside, allowing Eliot access to the door. It was only when Eliot's shoulders lost some of their tension that Alec realized that trapping him inside the room had probably made things worse than they needed to be.

Belatedly, he remembered the paper in his back pocket, which he pulled out and handed over as Eliot passed. Slowing to a halt, Eliot looked at the carefully scrawled flight reservation information for the round trip, and glanced up at Alec, surprise evident on his face.

"Thanks. I owe you."

"No problem," Alec smirked, stepping aside. "Bring back some of those insane tomatoes, and we'll call it even."

Eliot laughed, and made it halfway down the hall before calling out, over his shoulder. "You don't even _eat_ vegetables."

"Then you can call it revenge for making you fly coach," Alec replied, and let the door fall shut.

He was already turning on the television and settling in for the night when he realized he'd forgotten to stop grinning.

\---  
 _  
"I am sure we can come to terms. No transfers, though. I want cash."_

 _"Than you shall receive it. When can you get here?"_

 _"My flight leaves in an hour. I will contact you when I land."_

 _\---_   



	3. Chapter 3

  
Eliot was still cursing midwestern thunderstorms when he pulled his bike into the garage.

He was certain, somehow, that Hardison had the capabilities to work around that sort of thing if he wanted to. More than likely, he'd arranged the ticket knowing full well that Eliot would be stuck staring out the terminal windows for several unending hours, watching torrential rain pelting the Chicago tarmac.

 _You're being ridiculous,_ Eliot told himself for the third time in an hour. _Ain't like he can control the weather._

He shut the garage door and went inside, checking the security system before turning a considering eye towards the shower. Deciding that he'd had enough water for the evening, he skipped it, kicking his boots of at the foot of the bed and stripping down for sleep.

Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, as he plugged his cell into the charger, he did the math and figured that it was probably only a little after one AM in Kansas. He considered calling Hardison to bitch him out. He'd probably still be up, staring at that damned computer screen and giving himself eyestrain. And if not, well, it would serve him right to be woken up.

Eliot just didn't know what he'd say when the complaints ran out.

Too tired to do anything more, he fell asleep with his phone in his hand.

\---

It was nearly ten in the morning when Eliot woke again, startled to find that he'd slept so long, so he rushed into his morning routine while he wracked his brain trying to remember what it was he was supposed to be doing.

He was halfway through his workout when he realized that he had nowhere to be, no claims on his time beyond daylight and the growing season. The weatherman on the radio reported sunshine and heat, making lame jokes about how rough the day was going to be.

Pulling some tea bags out of the cabinet and running cold water from the tap, he fantasized vaguely about shoving the meteorologist into the back of an overcrowded Somalian bus in July. Backing the screen door open, he set the jug, already damp with condensation, out on the back porch to steep.

Continuing onward, he pulled a few weeds and tossed them aside on the lawn before making his way to the shed, intent on grabbing the gardening sheers. He was going to need a basket, as well.

Opening the shed door, he flipped the switch, but nothing happened. He tried the switch again, even though he knew better, and the shed remained dark, even though he'd changed the bulb less than a month ago.

Tension coiled in his gut, he went still. Began to listen, hard.

 _Someone was in here._

Still frozen, he puzzled it out. There was enough light coming in through the door that he could see reasonably well. There was nothing in the shed but a push mower and some tools. A hose coiled around a hook next to the too-small workbench.

Everything was normal. Nothing had changed.

The paint-spattered radio sitting on the shelf was battery-powered, at least, so he turned it on, tuning in to the classic rock station, catching the tail end of _Layla_ , before they cut to a commercial for car insurance. Rummaging around in the cabinet, he found the replacement bulbs.  After testing the light again, to no avail, he set to checking the wires, following them along towards the base of the rear wall. Grabbing a flashlight from the workbench, he crouched down to inspect the power box, brushing dust and cobwebs aside. The contacts had corroded, rusting away to almost nothing.

Eliot laughed, then, kneeling in his darkened shed, with the sun shining through the door behind him. It wasn't often his problems were so mundane.

Rummaging around the drawers in the workbench, he came up with four different coils of wire that had come with the place, and tried to pick them apart enough to see what the differences were. It seemed like something Hardison would know about.  Hell, he figured out how to stop a plane crash from a few thousand miles away. He knew how to rig the stock market any way he wanted to. He could bring down a multinational company with nothing more than a cell phone. He could figure out how to disarm a bomb without looking at it.  This would be easy.

Eliot could call him up,  if he wanted.

But they weren't the kind of acquaintances that called each other up on a Saturday afternoon to talk about wiring that wasn't attached to something about to explode. They were coworkers, and hell, past that, they probably weren't even allies. Not in the long run. They'd sat together at a bar and had an awkward conversation that had left Eliot reeling more than he wanted to admit, but they weren't friends.

Eliot couldn't decide what he thought of Hardison's knowledge, in the general sense, on the best of days. But when Hardison's knowledge involved himself, it was irritating. Didn't seem right, not when Eliot himself didn't know what was going on in the first place.

Not when he was pretty sure he should have had it all figured out by now, but it had been something he'd been not-noticing for a while. A few years, maybe, but it hadn't ever been a topic he'd had the time to worry about. His concerns had generally been more immediate in nature, and the paths his life had taken simply hadn't led him to a point where it needed to be considered.

 _He'd cleared the border into Thailand, dehydrated from the heat, sure he was about to die. Felt the wound going septic as he tried to find cover, sure that the next bullet wouldn't miss, and trying to convince himself he wasn't hoping for it. Checking for tails, keeping escape routes open._ Bad years that had him sleeping with a gun in his hand, and that one _worse_ year, when he'd first tried giving it all up, tried to start over from nothing.

But he'd stopped running, now, at least for a while. He had a house. Hell, he had a solid phone line and a sister and a nephew that knew the number, and he'd kept it for months now. He had something that felt like a regular gig. He had a crew.

But he also had years of leaving no trace of himself, anywhere, because his self would have slowed him down. He'd ditched it somewhere, and couldn't even remember when.

\---

Stepping back out of the shed, splicing and soldering and grumbling completed, Eliot noticed that the sun tea was finished, and decided that the tomatoes could wait another hour or so. After dodging inside to grab a glass of ice and the Ulysses S. Grant biography that was _finally_ starting to get interesting, he moved back to the porch.

Some ten pages later, and he noticed his eyelids beginning to droop.

He checked his watch. It was barely three. He re-read the last page for the third or fourth time, but the words weren't slotting themselves into his head the way they were supposed to.

The book hit the porch, but Eliot didn't wake.

\---

 _"I have him."_

"Wonderful. Myself, my men, our transport, and your money will be waiting for you."

\---

Alec had spent most of the previous afternoon on a raid that stretched out into the early hours of the morning. It had gone well, but for the fact that it meant he'd had to double-time it today, before Nate came around nagging for results.

It was getting late, and Sophie and Parker were still probably out at the quilt show. Nate had said something that morning about heading out to the ranch to watch the horses in action, and discuss the situation more with Mr. Bradshaw. There were two autistic teenagers scheduled for the day's session, and Alec didn't have to be there to see the guilt buried under Nate's grin as he watched them.

Eliot was at home. _Gardening_ , of all things.  By now, really, the strangeness of the idea should have worn off. It made more sense than other things he'd learned, after all. But then again.

 _No one plants a garden if they're not planning on sticking around._

Alec's mind was wandering. He needed a break from scrolling through too much Section 106 legalese. He'd spent the morning compiling manuals and faking notes for excavations, mapped out the areas where they'd need to find the artifacts, and now his eyes were burning, and he was out of soda.

He resigned himself to wandering out to the diner alone to grab something to eat, but when the elevator door opened, Parker was explaining geometry to Nate, and Sophie was wearing an expression that looked something like shell shock.  She fell into step next to him as they walked across the parking lot to the diner, leaning over to intone, "Next time, Eliot is on craft fair duty. Tell him that, when you talk to him."

Alec wanted to ask her why she thought he was Eliot's personal complaint clearinghouse, but it was Sophie. If he asked, she'd answer, in rambling earnest detail. It would just make things so much worse, so he let it ride.

\---

 _Something's wrong_ , Eliot dreamed, only he was starting to wake up, and the feeling wasn't abating.

He took care not to move, not to open his eyes. Just listened for a moment. There was nothing in the ambient noise he recognized. He did, however, recognize all too well the feeling of a concrete floor.

Slowly shifting his wrist, he moved it incrementally over a few millimeters of floor, finding it cooler. He'd been lying there long enough to warm the floor beneath him, but not long enough that he couldn't notice the difference.

The detail that he appeared to be missing his shirt didn't escape his notice, either, and his feet were bare as well.

 _This would be the 'something wrong', then._

Opening his eyes, he found the room to be dark, but not pitch black, and the air was heavy with mold.  A basement, then. _Great_.

Without moving his head, he cast his eyes about the room, trying to find something to lock onto, but finding precious little. Across the room, there was a door that looked ominously solid, with a grate at eye level that served as a window. He saw no hinges, which meant it probably opened towards the outside. Useless for cover if he needed it. There didn't seem to be anything else that would come in handy. The room was bare.

On the other hand, for the time being at least, he seemed to be alone.

The cold was beginning to sink into his bones. He had to sit up before he got too stiff.

 _Moment of truth._

He rolled over quickly, wanting to check his six before doing anything else, but found no one waiting behind him. Perimeter thusly examined, he pushed himself into a sitting position, but the blood shifting from his head left the beginnings of a sharp headache in its wake, leaving him dizzy.

He froze again, listening for any indication that his movement had been noticed. Something outside the door, or maybe beyond the glass brick window set high into the wall above, but there was nothing.

Releasing a breath, he slid across the floor to put his back against the far wall, so he could watch the door. Beyond casting his eyes around the room, getting its measure, he forced himself not to guess, not to overextend his assessment. Not knowing something was better than knowing the wrong thing too strongly.

Eliot ordered himself to remain calm, settling in to wait. Stared at the door and tried not to think.

\---

 _"This concludes our business, then," he said, snapping the briefcase shut, securing the cash. "You have done well."_

"Thank you," Mikel replied coolly, hefting the suitcase in her hand, and stepping away, back towards the truck. "You will not hear from me again."   



	4. Chapter 4

  
_  
"Sir, he's awake."_

"Good. Has he said anything yet?"

"No sir. Not a word."

"It's as I expected, then. Very well. Leave me."  
  
\---

Eliot stayed awake long after the cell went completely dark, fighting the drugs still coursing through his system, making him sleepy and weak. He knew he needed to conserve his strength, that he should get rest when he could.

It seemed, however, that his body remembered to panic for him, waking him sharply whenever it felt he'd left himself open too long.

He caught himself patting at his pockets, looking for his phone, his watch, anything that would tell him how long he'd been there, and chided himself. They'd taken his shirt, his shoes, and emptied his jeans pockets. Of course they did. It was the most basic of tactics.

It kept the prisoner from knowing how long he'd been there. Took away one more semblance of control.

He told himself it didn't matter. He figured he'd been here for most of a night, based on his own awareness, but he had no idea how long he'd been out when he'd arrived. How long he'd been kept under.

For all he knew, the team might already be missing him, but he slammed the door shut on that thought the moment he became aware of it. No sense getting his hopes up this early in the game.

Eliot sat against the wall of his cell and did not panic. Tried not to think. He just waited.

He was getting hungry, and he really had to piss.

\---

Alec adjusted the strap that secured the device to the tree's trunk. It was the kind people used for tracking game when they were hunting, so hopefully, the camo-painted camera would be overlooked, even if it was noticed.

It wasn't absolutely necessary, but it was an extra means of gaining information. There if they needed it, and it got him out of the hotel for a few hours. After checking the workaround he'd set up that would feed the images directly to his laptop, he was satisfied that his work, for the time being, was done.

Sophie and Nate were tying things up at the Historical Society, and Parker was, presumably, back at the hotel. If she was on comms like she was supposed to be, she didn't have much to say.

For the time being, Alec was alone out here, and he had to admit, it was kind of nice.

The project area stretched out for what had to be miles before ending at the tree line, a dark green silhouette near the horizon, in front of the setting sun. There were horses grazing out on the pasture to the south, but he didn't know what kind they were, even after the job, with Eliot's ex-fiancée, or whatever. He'd learned a lot about breeding horses, except for anything that was actually about _horses_. From here, he could tell, two were brown and three were gray.

It was the kind of thing that Eliot would know, that he'd explain patiently to Parker or Sophie, and spit out angrily if stuck explaining it to Nate or himself.

 _Such a mama's boy, that man. Seriously._

Alec drew himself up short.

 _No no no.  DOn't need to be thinkin' so much on him. You're just guessing, and it's based on a negligible amount of intel. It's a trap, exactly the kind of idiocy that's going to get you caught. Thinking that because you know one little thing, you know more than you actually do._

Alec sighed, checked his gear, and began making his way back towards the truck.

 _Especially 'cause of the stuff that you actually do know._

He really wanted to stop thinking about Eliot's thinking. It was like picking apart Nate's motivations about Sophie, Sophie's interest in Nate, or the way Parker's terrifying brain worked. Wasn't fair, either. He had the advantage.  

\--

He'd been fourteen, when he had realized that he might be gay, and the epiphany had brought enough angst and self-hatred that even now, he was still surprised that he hadn't taken out half of Chicago with him in the process.  It hadn't helped that it was the same year was Kevin, his brother, the last of his real blood family, got stupid and gotten killed over some territory dispute down on the south side.  Hadn't helped at all. 

Finding himself, in the middle of all _that_ , hadn't been easy. Nana had been there, and the others, but it wasn't the same. He'd spent half that year in church, it seemed, and the other half sitting in his room thinking about insane things like hell, and freakishness, and if it all meant he was actually a woman, or trying to act white, or if it meant he was destined for a life of being a prison bitch. Thinking about where he'd go, and how fast he'd have to clear out of town once the Disciples found out.

Nana was proud that he was so reluctant to fall in with the same crew that Kevin had died for, but she hadn't known his reasons, that he strong suspicions that they'd probably kill him on sight.

It took another year to figure out that apparently, all that thinking he'd done was normal, at least according to the internet.  

The first thing he'd learned, back before he knew anything, had been how to set up an email account.

The second was how to clear out the search history.

The third was how to become someone else online, and the fourth was how to become no one or anyone at all.

Anonymity was safety. Online, he could find out what he wanted, become who he wanted. Alec was smart, though. Even before he was released from foster care, he was well on his way to discovering that it wasn't something that could only be done on the internet.

By that point, telling Nana was just a matter of being himself. But it had taken him nearly four years to figure out how to be who he was, and it had taken a lot of sitting up nights, sure that he was doomed.

\--

He wondered how far along Eliot was with all of it.

 _You ain't even gonna ask him about horses, man. How you gonna ask him about scheduling this shit? Just set it aside and move on. Move. On._

 _Move_. His footsteps brushed through the undergrowth, setting to some rhythm in his head. _On. Move. On. Move_. His thoughts provided the counterpoint to the beat as he walked back to the car. His shoes were soaked through, the moisture seeping through to soak his socks by the time he arrived, but neither the mud nor the music was much of a distraction. Not really.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the dashboard, wondering who, among the billions of people walking the world, Eliot would call once he figured it all out. His sister, maybe. Probably. The man still had family, after all, people that were probably there to look out for him, and it wasn't Alec's business.

But he'd seen Eliot's phone records. Aside from a few local calls, he hadn't called anyone who wasn't on the team since he'd bought the house out on Hough's Neck a few months back. It would have been sad, but it was more likely he kept another cell, one that Alec hadn't cracked yet.

\---

When Eliot woke again for the fourth or fifth time, the sun had apparently risen. Light fought through from above, but it wasn't enough to reach all the way into the corners, and didn't reveal much of anything that he hadn't noticed earlier.

Except for four things.

A single bulb hung close to the ceiling, far too high to reach, but it was turned off, and there was no switch in the room that he could see. No way to know if it even worked.

He had to squint to see it, but up in the corner of the ceiling, eased in the familiar black hemisphere, was the inevitable camera. For all he knew, it could have been filming every move he made, or nothing at all. He decided to ignore it.

Sitting just inside the door was a plastic bucket, the kind kids hauled off to the beach for making sandcastles. Eliot knew it's alternate purpose without thinking.

Next to it, a paper cup dripped condensation onto the floor.

These last hadn't been in there before he'd fallen asleep. He hadn't been forgotten, then. He was supposed to survive this, for a while at least.

It wasn't as heartening a realization as it probably should have been.

\---

Nate was dogging him, asking about Eliot's ETA before they'd even eaten lunch. Parker hadn't even made it past breakfast. It was going to be a long day.

"His flight's due to come in a little after five. He should be here by seven. He'll probably call and check in once he lands."

"All right. Let me know when he does," Nate poured himself some coffee from the carafe at the center of the table, frowning at it in distaste.

They were going to have to go over most of it again when Eliot got in, but Hardison passed out the field manuals he'd put together, complete with maps and charts and things that were there for show, should anyone want to look at them. Their discoveries were already logged and mapped. All they needed to do was go out there and look busy.

Sophie had decided that Parker needed new shoes, that the heels on her boots would not be suitable for working in the field.

"Sophie, what?" Nate was annoyed. It had been brewing all weekend. "Seriously. Shoes?"

"She's right, man," Alec cut in, seeing the chastened expression stealing across Sophie's face. "Been reading all weekend, and all the books say that you want to be wearing flat-footed shoes when you're digging in the field."

"Why's that?" Looking up from her fries, which she was stacking into piles that could have been teepees or whatever those things were that people used to burn witches, Parker looked confused, though Nate had clearly already lost interest, his eyes glazing over as he tried to flag the waiter down for the check.

"They mess up the floor of the hole that you're digging. Could wind up pushing artifacts down further into the ground unevenly or something like that. Make it look wrong."

"Nobody's going to be looking that close," Nate interjected.

"Not at the pits, but if anyone comes out and sees us, we should look the part, don't you think?" Sophie was smiling again, her grin widening a little as she caught Alec's eye when Nate cleared his throat irritably.

"Okay. Fine. You two go handle that. Hardison, do we know if DeWitt's been out to the site yet?"

"The cameras were triggered a couple of times last night. I was just starting to go through the images when you called me down here. I'll let you know what I find."

"We already know he's going to be out there," Parker said. "What are the cameras for?"

"To know exactly where he was, what he found," Nate explained, pulling out bills for the tip. "Possible evidence for later, if it's needed. If this doesn't work the way we want it to, at least the Bradshaw family will have some evidence."

"You don't seem as optimistic as you did last week," Parker said, but it was unclear if it was her words or the horrible coffee that sent Nate up out of his seat.

"He's just nervous," Sophie leaned towards Parker, smiling sympathetically as they watched him leave. _She'd be a good mom someday,_ Alec caught himself thinking as she continued. "He'll feel better when everyone's present and accounted for."

"Him and me both," Parker said. "It's weird without him here. Even if he is. You know. Mean and grumpy all the time."

"Aww, you _miss_ him."

Parker looked at him sharply. "You should talk. You're his  _friend_."

"Nah, see. _Hardly_."

"I saw him leaving the other day. He was smiling when he left."

"He was _leaving_ , I think that tells you everything you want to know."

"Or, it could be that you made him feel better."

Parker's grin looked a lot like the one she used when she heard you, but wasn't planning on listening. A little smug, a little patronizing, but adorable enough that you didn’t mind.

Kind of like a kitten, climbing up your pant leg with razor sharp claws.

So Alec let her get away with it, and followed them back to the hotel.

\---

Whoever it was keeping him there, they weren't stupid, and they weren't amateurs. They'd grabbed him and shoved him here. They had a holding cell at their disposal. And they hadn't shown their faces. They didn't talk. They gave nothing away.

Eliot stood next to the door for hours, sometimes straining to see out into the space beyond, always listening, and finding nothing.

It was probably business. If so, they most likely knew him, or his rep, well enough that they weren't dealing with him directly. They could be weak, or smart, or both, but they were keeping their advantage.

He regarded the water again, considering the innocuous paper cup. It smelled okay. That didn't mean anything at all. They'd already drugged him to get in here in the first place. There could be a lot of things in that water.

But he was beginning to get thirsty.

\---

Alec waited outside Nate's door, biting at the inside of his mouth as he listened to him move to answer.

Nate had read his expression even before the door was open.

"Hardison? What is it?"

"It's Eliot. His flight got in, but he wasn't on it. He's not answering his phone. Just spent ten minutes reconfiguring the monitoring for the comms, and he's not on there, either."

They stopped to retrieve Parker and Sophie en route to Alec's room, where they all stared at his screensaver like they thought it would tell them something useful. "Ah. Guys? He's not on there, and how I know it? It's because he's _not on there_. He's off the grid and in the wind."

"He left?" Parker's disappointment was palpable. Then again, hers wasn't the only one drifting through the room.

Nate cut a searching glance in Alec's direction. "That remains to be seen." Running a hand over his face, he said. "Do you have any idea why he would bail?"

"No."

"That argument-"

"Got _handled_. We were cool when he left."

"It's true," Parker interjected adamantly, but Nate ignored her.

"Are you finding anything on him at all?  Has he been arrested?"

"His name and description aren't coming up on any police or hospital records. I looked before you got here. If he was, it would have had to be in the past hour or two, given the average time it takes for the records to be processed and uploading. Anything earlier, and I'd have seen it."

"So it's not the authorities, and it might just be him."

"He wouldn't just bail."

"True." Nate nodded, his face grim. "But you really don't want me running down the other possibilities right now."

"We have to get back there," Alec pointed out.

Nate's response was frustrated. "And what about the Bradshaws?"

"We come back in a day or two and salvage what we can," Sophie offered.

" _No_." Nate's voice was firm. "We finish the job." Glancing at the others apologetically, he continued. "Look, I know you don't like it, but here it is. Eliot is better at taking care of himself than the rest of us combined. The Bradshaws need us more right now."

"You don't know that," Parker accused.

"I know Eliot well enough that if he's gone AWOL, then he's safe. If someone's managed to get a hit out on him, we're too late already. If he's being held somewhere, well. If they can hold _him_ , then _we_ need to know what we're getting ourselves into before we go charging in."

Sensing the reluctant agreement of the others, he went on. "So. Tomorrow, we get out there, and we close this job down as quickly as possible. Hardison, I want you ready to alert the media. Parker, you've got the goods ready to go?"

"Yes. But-"

Nate cut her off. "We finish _tomorrow_. It's going to be a rush job, but we can make it work. Hardison?"

"I'm already setting up crawlers to look for him," Alec looked up from the screen. "I'll let you all know the second I know anything. And I've got a few hours to make calls."

"Who are you calling?"

"I'm still working that out," Alec admitted.  "Any of you guys know his contacts?"

"There's. _Us_ ," Sophie offered lamely. "And Aimee."

"That Scottish Indian guy, ah," Nate waved his hand through the air. "Helped us out with the Mumbai videoconference last year? Donnie something or other."

"Right." Hardison added him to the list, made a note to check the call archive for his number once they all cleared out of his room.

"He doesn't know a lot of people," Parker said. "It's weird."

" _You_ should talk," Sophie muttered, before turning to Nate. "You chased him before, right? You've got to have some insight into who might be after him."

"Only chased after him once," Nate grinned slightly, apparently fond of the memory. "There were these. Ah. Smugglers. Moving an experimental chip from one of IYS's contracts. It was a bitch to find, see. I mean. I was following them for weeks. Almost caught up with them in Israel. Missed them by minutes. Anyway." Nate shook his head, stopping an apparent tangent before it started. "It turns out that they'd fed it to a monkey just before crossing the border."

"Seriously. A monkey?"

"Ah. Yes. See, the monkey was a favorite pet of the daughter of one of the smugglers. Even went on the _plane_ with her in a cat carrier. It wasn't until we were halfway over the ocean that I came close to figuring it out, but by the time we landed, well. I wasn't the first one there."

"Eliot stole the monkey first," Sophie guessed, grinning.

"What? No. They _gave_ it to him. I was still stepping down from the plane when he hightailed it off the tarmac. I lost him."

Alec shrugged.  "Did you ever get the chip?"

"Two months later, it turned up in Germany, and we did a sting. Me and. Ah. Sterling."

Parker made a face.  "That guy is _seriously_ creepy."

Nate cocked his head, considering.  "Only because he's not on our side."

"Like I said. _Creepy_."

"Okay, look. We're getting off topic, here. Hardison, do your thing. Sophie and Parker? I want you thinking of anyone we've come across who might be out for payback, and getting ready for tomorrow. It's going to be an early day."

"What are you going to do?"

Nate sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm going to think."

\---

The silence was getting ridiculous. Made doubly so that he knew it was on purpose. To get him to freak out, show his cards first.

It was getting harder to hold his tongue, though.

He couldn't go down, faking injury when there was no one throwing punches. He couldn't work his captors to gain sympathy if there was no one around. He couldn't recite his name, rank, or serial number for the same reason.

He was beginning to lose interest in remembering his training, but he meditated on it anyway.

It beat thinking about his empty stomach.

\---

Alec could put up with a lot of things, but the realization that the information he needed _just didn't exist_ wasn't one of them. He checked his programs one last time, made sure his phone was synched to inform him if anything came through, and forced himself to step away. Get out of the room, away from the few pieces of gear and clothing Eliot had left behind, and away from the slow-crawling panic that had been crawling over his skin for the past five hours.

Around back, behind the hotel and next to the dumpster, was a picnic table, probably meant for staff only. But at the moment, Nate was occupying it, toying with the bottle he held in his hand. Under the streetlight, the amber liquid swirled against the clear glass.

Alec knew he should leave, that no good would come of staying. But Nate wasn't so far gone that he didn't see him. "What's going on? You have anything yet?"

"Nothing." Alec sat down on the bench, running his hand over the tabletop, feeling the wood threatening to splinter. "What you were saying earlier. You straight up on that? That was the only time you ran into him?"

"He was never the target, but he was the means, more than once." Nate set the bottle down, and Alec pretended not to notice that the seal hadn't been broken, mostly because it was surprising. "Wasn't too eager to get too close, truth be told. His, ah. Rep."

"Right."

"What about you?"

"Me? Nah, man. Never met him before that first job you ran."

"But you talk to him. You've got to have some ideas."

"None that are going anywhere. I'm out, man. Straight up."

Nate pushed the bottle across the picnic table, withdrawing his hand carefully, before looking up guiltily. "I'm starting to wonder if he really just didn't decide to leave."

Alec wanted to argue that Eliot wouldn't have left one pair of hiking boots and his rattiest jeans behind, but really. They weren't the sort of thing anyone would come back for. So he nodded, instead, and looked out into the parking lot, watching the moths fluttering under the lights.

\---

He wasn't sure what woke him, but it was night, apparently.

His eyes cast about the room, looking for any source of sound, and finding none but the door. There was a dim light coming in from the other side of the door, barely visible through the gate.

Another moment of staring, and the shadows rearranged themselves, revealing the silhouette of someone's head. Absolutely featureless, absolutely still. Staring at him through the grate, he was sure.

Eliot was more awake in that moment than he had since he'd arrived, but he was frozen. Unready. He took a breath, closed his eyes to listen.

When he opened them again, seconds later, the person was gone, or maybe just the light.

Eliot wasn't afraid of the dark. But he didn't like it, either.  



	5. Chapter 5

  
This was getting old.

 _Don't have time for this._

It wasn't like keeping quiet was going to prevent anyone from knowing he was there.

 _Ship's long sailed on that one, son._

But talking meant one of two things. Asking for information, or giving it away. The latter was the more obvious of the two, but the former was more dangerous. It wasn't just requesting information that was the problem. It was admitting that you didn't understand in the first place.

It meant putting yourself at their mercy, just a little bit more.

And he was already sitting on a gritty concrete floor, without shirt, shoes, or weapons. He had nothing. Down to his jeans and his pride, both felt a little more valuable than they'd been a week ago.

So Eliot remained silent. Mostly to alleviate the cramping in his gut, he paced the room again, trying the door handle on every hundredth pass. He wasn't expecting to find it open, but it allowed him the illusion that he was taking action-any sort of action at all.

He had a little while yet before the room would be too dark to see, and he was fighting sleep on his feet already, well past weary of the routine.

This time last, what, week? A few days ago? He'd been worrying about setting foot in a bar, of all places. Been sure that it would destroy him.

But it hadn't. Apparently his radar was off by a few days, nearly to the point of being comical. Instead, then, he'd shot some pool, and felt more comfortable than he'd expected. At least until finding Hardison sitting there in an obnoxious green sweatshirt, grinning at him like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

 _No. Wait. That was later on._

Hardison had been convinced he was there for some nefarious purpose, and he hadn't known, at first, whether or not to be insulted by that assumption, or wary of the man making it.

Or a little of both.

But, flashing forward again, to when Hardison was smiling. Comfortable where he was sitting at the bar, only acting nervous because of Eliot's unease.

Even then, he hadn't been surprised that Hardison rolled with the punches, even if everything else-

 _God, you can't even think it._

Even if everything else was a little messed up.

Hardison was supposed to be at home, playing his stupid game, stuffing his face with junk food and shouting obscenities at the computer screen. Destroying monsters that went down a whole lot easier than the ones they encountered at work. He wasn't supposed to have a life.

Eliot hadn't let himself think about it, not much, but he was running out of other options. It was either Hardison, or the same four walls, the cool grittiness of the concrete floor under his feet, and whatever was due to come through the door the moment he let his guard down.

Given the options, maybe thinking a bit more on the topic of Alec Hardison wasn't so insane.

He wondered how he'd managed to figure everything out, how he'd probably done so at a fairly young age. If it really had been as bad as Eliot suspected. A broken wrist wasn't the hardest knock a body could take, but it wasn't fun. He tried to guess what Hardison would be like if he hadn't gone through it. More obnoxious? Less?

The guy was just a kid. Eliot wasn't sure how old he was, not really, but it rankled, just a little, to think that he'd already found his way through it all, that he was finished with that entire self-discovery bullshit. He was whoever he was now, and the big headfuck of getting there was over and done with.  Yesterday. Old news. And Hardison had to have been with guys before.  As geeky as he was, he was just too damned sociable.

It was an infuriating thing to be concerned with, all things considered, but it didn't stop Eliot from circling around it.

If it were anyone else- if both of them were someone else, maybe he'd have asked about it. What he'd done, what it had felt like, how much did it change him. If it had screwed with Hardison's head the way the mere idea of it was screwing with Eliot's.

But they weren't other people. He hadn't asked. And there they were. Well, there he was. Hardison was out in the world somewhere, existing. It was a little surreal to think about, impractical, how in his mind _Hardison_ and _Not Here_ were coming to mean the same thing, but Eliot was cold, worn out, and out of options. A little irrationality under the circumstances was one of the few things he could afford.

As long as he kept an eye on it.

\---

He'd held out for hours, days maybe. Hadn't sipped any of the water, eaten any of the sandwich sitting on the paper plate, too sure that the water was drugged and the food was poison. The need for both was winning out, though, and Eliot had to admit to himself that at this point, it probably didn't matter.  And he had to do _something_ , even something stupid, to get this moving forward.

He ate the stale sandwich and drank the water and waited for it to kill him.  Tried to tell himself he wasn't giving in, that it wasn't an act of surrender.

He was already weak, and his head hurt too much to concentrate. At this point, they didn't need to drug him. They already had every advantage.

 _You're whining again. Get over it, get a plan, and get out of here._

The cell had grown dark. He lay down, resolving to only fake sleep. He needed to be awake when the door opened.

\---

Alec grunted and hefted another shovelful of earth up towards Parker, who caught it in the screen, sifting through the dirt, and thankfully, finding nothing.

It was just past one, and the heat was becoming unbearable, but with one more shovelful, he was finally done digging. He signaled Sophie, who knelt to hand the last three pieces of pottery down, her movements slow and careful.

Alec bit back a rude comment or two. _Thing's been broken for a few hundred years. Ain't like another crack is going to ruin it._

He was pretty sure he wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, but he set his jaw. For now, he would concentrate, and keep his mouth shut. Arguing now would only cause more delays. Wasn't good for anyone.

By the time Nate caught up to them, camera in tow, Sophie was already on the phone, alerting the news. They were nearly finished.

\---

He figured it had been a day or so since he'd caught sight of the person out in the hall. Since then, there had been no further change in routine, other than his failed attempt to avoid sleep. He was still tired all the time and still ached, deep in his joints, low in his spine.

But he was growing certain that it wasn't the drugs, it wasn't the near starvation, and it wasn't the lack of water that was going to kill Eliot. It was the boredom.

He'd been pulling out for longer and longer. Disassociating. He'd already thought about his garden, concentrating on creating it exactly from memory, down to the twine that held the young vines up against the trellis, and every cheap plastic garden stake that he'd meant to remove once the plants were grown enough to identify.

He'd mentally gone through the steps of building the Desperado cycle kit he'd picked up after getting back from Pakistan, belt drive to break lines to front end. Tried to remember every twist of the wrench it had taken, but it had started to get hazy.

It wasn't working as well as it had yesterday. He couldn’t concentrate. Kept thinking about the others. Trying not to hope that they were coming for him.

 _It's been too long, now._

Eliot tamped down on the panic that started to rise, recognizing it as the first twitches of dreaming. He'd been falling asleep again.

Dreaming that Parker was crawling through the air vents while Sophie distracted the guards out front, wherever out front was. That Nate was holed up in an office somewhere, standing over Hardison's shoulder. Watching, monitoring, impatient for updates.

He could see Hardison staring at his screen, too focused to notice Nate's hovering. Silent, for once

Wait, no. That was all wrong. That silence wasn't his, it was here.

It wasn't just the dark that was beginning to get to Eliot. The quiet took its own toll.

\---

Alec spent the afternoon shutting down the project, setting the timer on a couple of alerts, and clearing out the hotel room, packing Eliot's belongings with his own before settling down in the lounge, drinking a soda, and checking his crawlers.

Nothing on Eliot. He tried not to be surprised.

Up in the corner, the television was on, quietly, but when it struck five, the bartender turned the volume up. It was the local news.

Weather, first, and a report on the preparations for the new community pool, but after a commercial, Sophie was on. Alec spun around to see if Parker or Nate had arrived yet, to see if they were watching too, but they still hadn't made it back.

He watched, intently, and strained to listen to the conversations around the room. She was really selling it. Hell, Alec knew Sophie, had gone over the story with her, but now, watching her in action, he was half convinced to take the classes she was teaching over at the University.

It would take a hell of a lot to remove the story from the video archives later, but for the moment, it was worth it.

The bartender came round down to his end again, curious. "So that was what you guys were working on?"

"Yep." Alec held up his right hand, showing the blisters that had formed on his palm, feeling like an asshole for thinking that Eliot should have been there to take some of the damage. "Hell of a day, man. The artifacts should tell us a lot."

"That's not all they're gonna do," the bartender replied. "See. You're new in town, but there's this guy. DeWitt. Been building up office parks, trying to pull more business into the area. Says he's reinvigorating the town, but the truth is, he's a snake. Whatever he touches turns to shit, you know? He's been destroying everything that makes this place home, you know?"

"Uh." Alec didn't know what to say to that. Truth be told, he hadn't noticed that the bartender was aware of what they were doing, why they were there. It all made sense, though, when he spoke again.

"So, that Susan. The research assistant, or whatever they called her. She seein' anyone?"

Alec wanted to consider that as much as he wanted to consider any more of this job. His fingers were already twitching, knowing that soon, he'd be able to put it behind him, toggle over, and get to work on tracking Eliot. But he played it off with a laugh and a shrug, and after a moment, the bartender was heading back into the kitchen anyway.

Looking back down to his laptop, Alec checked the Historical Society email servers again. Already, it seemed that some of the artifacts were coming into question, that a Dr. Henrikson had apparently found one of the more unique bowls the not six months ago, and it had disappeared from the site.

Another few emails, and it was apparent that DeWitt being the only one to know about the excavation was cause for concern. The paperwork, it seemed, had never arrived, and the State Archaeologist's office was already sending someone up from Kansas City.

It was cause for some mild concern, but he'd been carefully sloppy, ghosting everything through DeWitt's office server. To anyone looking, it would be clear that DeWitt trying to cover his trail.

The news hadn't aired fifteen minutes ago, but the mess the team had carefully left was already snowballing towards scandal. Another day or two at the most, and the Bradshaw ranch project would be scrapped. DeWitt would be ruined.

And Alec could get some real work done. Important work, though he knew better than to say so in front of the others. Something in his shoulders began to unclench, and his mind was beginning to spin into gear.

\---

Eliot noticed two things upon waking. The first was that he felt worse than before, and that he was starting to shiver again. The second was the light. It was glaring, and felt like sunshine until he noticed that the bulb hanging from the ceiling was glowing.

He shut his eyes again, before opening them again carefully, adjusting to the brightness.  
His mouth was too dry to even consider swallowing, but there was another half sandwich, and another cup of water in the middle of the room.

He'd failed, then. Fallen asleep again, and missed another chance.

He bit back a groan, the closest thing to sound he'd made since arriving.

Something caught his eye, then, over by the door. It took a few moments to focus enough to see.

A picture, glossy, hanging on the wall. A photograph.

He was rolling over, willing the strength to get up and inspect it, when he noticed a second, on the right hand wall. On a hunch, he turned his head to find a third, across the cell to the left.

They were unsettling, from here, even without knowing what images they showed.

None of them, however, made him as uneasy as the fourth, which he didn't see until he finished standing. It had been hung mere inches above his head. Someone had leaned over him while he'd been asleep. Someone had gotten that close.

It was the sort of thing that wasn't supposed to happen. All of this was.

Taking more time than he was comfortable admitting, he managed to tear the pictures from the wall. Gathering them together before settling down again, water temptingly close to hand, he set to examining them.

All four were of the same man, taken over several years. One had been taken inside a car. Another had been taken outside, in a place where the sun shone too brightly, bleaching everything out. One was in a crowded square, a banner in the background bore the Olympic rings, and writing in kanji. Nagano, then, probably 1998.

The man had dark hair in what seemed the earliest picture, but it was dyed nearly white in the three later ones, Eliot could see the roots showing. The grin was the same in all of them, never reaching the dark eyes, which were hidden by dark glasses in two shots anyway.

Eliot had the sinking feeling he was supposed to know who it was.

He turned the photos over, hoping for some further explanation, but he found nothing except the imprints striped up the backs. They'd all been developed at the same time. Recently. It didn't tell him when the film had actually been used.

\---

Even after he'd memorized them, Eliot stared at the photographs for a long time, because there was nothing else in the cell worth examining. Something, however, an hour or several later, made him look up.

The noise was so faint that he couldn't be sure that he'd heard it. Voices. No. Wait. One voice, sharp and urgent and quiet. He strained to listen, long after it had faded, trying to confirm what he thought he'd heard, trying not to get his hopes up, but there was nothing for a long while.

And then, again, that same voice, whispering.

"- _disabled the alarm_."

It was Parker.

Eliot crawled up into a sitting position, ran a hand through his hair, and didn't move his eyes from the door. Breathless and waiting, he'd never paid so much attention to anything in his life.

So when the gunshot sounded, Eliot felt it rip through him, sure that he'd been struck dead.

But he was still sitting there, in the middle of the cell, with nothing but echoing reverberations shuddering through him. Once he was able to comprehend the notion that he was still there to feel them, he was on his feet, all weakness and resolution to remain silent forgotten.

"Parker!" His voice was a scraping rasp against his throat, and he wasn't sure how much of it actually made it out, and how much he only heard in his head. But it didn't seem to matter, either way. There was no response at all.

Just some shuffling out in the hallway, the sound of a body being dragged across a basement floor.

 _It's a very distinctive sound,_ Eliot thought hysterically, his hands clutching tightly into fists as he waited to fall apart.

He could feel the first tremors already.

\---

"Hardison, tell me you've got something."

As he'd been getting out of the car the previous night, Nate had promised Alec eighteen hours to work before banging down his door.

He was thirteen minutes early, and didn't wait to be invited in. Standing in the middle of Alec's kitchen and barely noting the three open laptops on the table, he looked like he'd gotten twice as much sleep as Alec had. Zero twice was still zero.

"Just dead ends, all around. For all the sleep I didn't get, the results ain't turning up to be worth it."

"Nothing?" Nate assessed him with a glance, not liking the answer. His tone was needling. "You're sure about your sources?"

Alec snorted his frustration. "What did I just say? Man, I looked. I looked damn hard. I got military, police, every lease and title under every alias. I have pictures of him with a fantastic mullet back in high school. I've been tracking every dude and every lady who he's crossed, with us and before us, and there ain't nothin' goin' down with any of 'em. Only lead I haven't run down is his sister, and that's only because-"

"Don't," Nate intoned, his voice a warning as he picked up a deck of playing cards from the shelf, riffling through them with his thumb distractedly. "Don't even."

"But she might know-"

Still, though, Nate was shaking his head. "Alec, you've been keeping files on us since we started. What do they tell you about his sister?"

"She went off the radar the same time as his last posting in Afghanistan. Probably got her name changed. He hasn't contacted her or her kid since, far as anyone should be able to tell."

"He's been keeping them safe since the mid-nineties, then," Nate reasoned, cutting the deck single handedly.

Alec leaned forward, trying to catch Nate's attention. "But I already know where she-"

Any illusion that he'd been distracted died with Nate's glare. "Not the point, Hardison."

"Yo, man. Look. It don't sit right with me, neither, but for all we know, she could have been involved."

"You have any evidence to back that up? Anything at all? No?" Nate seemed close to shouting, but he stopped himself, his tone going quiet and patronizing. "Fine. Whatever.  Tell me what will happen once we call Eliot's sister."

Alec wanted to throttle the older man, he really did. "We get some information? Even if it's a dead end, we'll know it's a dead end."

"Two," Nate picked up the narration impatiently, holding up two fingers to continue the list. "We tell her something's up, she worries, and starts looking into it on her own."

"If _I_ can't find him, how the hell is _she_ going to?"

"Then what's the point of asking in the _first_ place?" Alec snorted, but Nate ignored him. "Three. She finds out what her brother's life looks like. We find Eliot, he comes back, whatever, and he finds out not only that she knows, but how." Nate looked away, out the window, or at it, maybe, his voice finally losing some of its rancor. "You're looking for a way to kill a man, destroy his family. Got it?"

"Yeah," Alec swallowed, sensing that the argument was closed, but refusing to let it go without making his point. "Just. If this was anyone else, if this was a client, we'd check it out. Wouldn't even talk about it."

Nate nodded, like he'd been in agreement with Alec this whole time. "This isn't just anyone else, though, is it? Listen. You get me anything that points in that direction, and I'll make the call myself. But for now, we leave his sister out of it. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, man.  We're clear."

\---

Eliot had mourned himself to sleep with the light still on, sure that there were only so many more times he'd be opening his eyes again. Only so many times he even wanted to try.

It wasn't the waking that surprised him, though. It was the presence of someone else in the room. He could hear the sound of breath, somewhere behind him, towards the center of the room. He could feel the stirring of the air against the bare skin of his back. They were close.

 _This is your chance. Don't fuck it up._

Eliot took one slow, measured breath, before going into action.

He swung his body over, swept his leg wide, hoping to connect with the back of a knee, but he wasn't dismayed to find that the inside of his ankle caught the intruder in the torso.

It brought him down even faster.

Eliot scrambled to drag himself over before the man, who had to outweigh him by more than he wanted to consider, had a chance to recover. His hand already wrenched into a fist, he got two hits in, sloppier than he'd like, but heavy enough for the time being. Caught him in the throat, the second time.

He would kill this man.

He began to press down, putting all his weight into it.

All his weight, these days, wasn't near enough, and something was off, even if he couldn't tell exactly what it was. He was still trying to identify the sound of the door opening when he felt the hands grab him from behind.

They pulled him roughly off his target, dragging him back and up until he was almost kneeling, but before he could shift his weight, get his feet under him properly, they'd thrown him down onto his back.

His head hit the floor sharply, but then he had a moment to look up at his assailants, only mildly surprised to find that he couldn't see their faces, not with the bright light turning them into silhouettes and the dark spots blurring his vision.

One of them had killed Parker, and the anger was starting to rise, trying to gain the foothold that shove him back into the violence, but the first kick came like a storm breaking.

Sharp and definite and different, it was everything he'd wanted, right up until he felt the second crashing into his hip, grinding his skin across the floor as the force pushed him away.

He began to lose track of the individual sensations a moment later, too focused on curling in, trying to protect what was left of himself.

His knee screamed as it gave out under a boot heel, and the pummeling kicks, faster now and to numerous to count, were pressing the air from his lungs too quickly to be replaced. A foot glanced off his face, leaving him choking on his own blood, unable to stir enough air to cough.

Didn't matter, though. With his ribs feeling this broken, it hurt too much to try.

He started to black out, then, but it saved him the embarrassment of flailing, of begging them to stop. His last thought was that this falling, this fading out and under, was the first mercy that came for free.

Some small part of Eliot had won, and the rest followed him down.

\---

The splinters were starting to show. Nate was burning himself at both ends, and looked worse than he'd done during his rehab stint. Parker was pacing and feral, snapping at anyone for looking in her general direction. Sophie, always the sort to care wherever and whenever she could, was starting to worry about the three of them, more than she worried about Eliot, and Alec really would have liked it if they could all just stay on topic.

Nate had finally determined that Parker was going to start eating into his security deposit if she was stuck there much longer, and that Hardison needed to unpeel himself from Nate's screens, so he'd kicked them out.

It was just as well, Alec decided, staring down in dismay at the desk shoved in the corner of Eliot's living room. It got him out of the place, away from the couch where he had nothing to do besides wish for intel that wasn't there, wondering if his basic assumptions weren't wrong.

It was insane to assume that Eliot would always be there, or that he'd be gracious when the time came that he decided he was through with the group. But things had been going well, Alec had thought. They were just starting to get their groove back after months apart, finding that nothing had changed, not really. Hell, maybe things had even been a little better than before.

Except- and it had been creeping up on him for days, but it stung fresh- Eliot might have left because of him, because of what he knew.

Maybe he didn't want to be found.

\---

True to Eliot's word, Alec found no evidence of a television in Eliot's house. He did, however, have a computer. Of sorts.

The modem probably hadn't worked for ten years. It wasn't even plugged in, and the shoebox in the file drawer held, in equal amounts, floppy discs and dust. Indiana Jones himself would have choked.

Parker was finishing up in Eliot's insanely well-stocked and organized kitchen, having found nothing but a few dishes in the sink and an obscene number of cookbooks in the cupboard.

"I'm going upstairs to start on his room," she called out, and Alec couldn't understand, for a moment, why that made him nervous. Thought for a moment it was because he was hearing it on the comms, as well as from down the hall, then realized it was something else.

Alec shot out of his chair. "Nah, hey. Parker. I got it."

"You're still-"

"I've got everything from his computer."

"If he has a safe, it would probably be-"

"I'm just saying. You know. Man probably wouldn't appreciate a lady pawing through his underwear drawer, you know?"

"What, having another guy do it makes it any less weird?" But Parker's footsteps were creaking down the staircase again. "Fine. I call dibs on the garage, though."

"Fair enough," Alec agreed, confused by her happy grin as she passed by him coming out of the hallway.

\---

As she rummaged through Eliot's truck, Parker described everything she found in the glove compartment, running it by Nate to see if he thought it would be useful.

Alec, for his part, kept his findings quiet. He'd already gone through the closet and the dresser, and was running out of things to check that weren't the bed, which had two bare pillows and a comforter piled on the bare mattress, and the nightstand.

 _Stay focused. Ain't here to know about that. Find out what happened. That's all. Ignore the rest._

Unable to put it off any longer, he pulled the drawer out of the nightstand. Found another knife, not the first that had been stashed away in the house. A half-finished Sunday crossword, a scattering of keys and paper clips. The small box of tissues and the bottle of lotion were so unsurprising that he should have barely noticed them. It wasn't until he flipped the crossword aside to find the magazine underneath that he was finally faced with what he'd been steeling himself to find.

One porno mag, with two men on the cover. It was six months old, and a little torn along the spine, but not so much that the cover was in danger of falling off.

It was a stupid detail to note, compared to the rest of it. But the alternative was to open it up and flip through, just to satisfy his own curiosity. To wonder which of the models were Eliot's type, if the images inside actually did it for him, or if they weren't quite enough. If Eliot was just making do with this outdated issue until he could get up the gumption to replace it.

 _This ain't what you're here for. Quit perving over his porn and get yo' ass to work finding him_.

"Hardison, you find anything?" He jumped at the sound of Nate's voice.

"What? Ah. Nah, man. Just crossword puzzles and the usual," he righted the contents of the drawer and slid it closed gently. "Bed's been stripped, though."

"There are sheets in the washing machine. They got all moldy and gross," Parker said, and the crash of the lid back over the offending materials was deafening over the comms. "There's a pitcher of ice tea on the back porch, though I wouldn't recommend drinking it, and I found a book lying on the floor, though it looks like it got spilled on. Broken glass, too, but no blood. Doesn't look like there was much of a struggle, or a cleanup."

 _Go figure, while you're being creepy all up in Eliot's business, Parker's going all Grissom. She'll probably have one of those purple flashlights out by the time you get down there._

Alec cast one last glance around Eliot's room, mentally apologizing to the nightstand for intruding. Some pink material had gotten caught in the door of the closet when he'd been going through Eliot's pockets. Finding nothing in the pockets, he'd ignored the shirt, but now he tried to remember if he'd seen Eliot wearing it. If he'd given him any shit for wearing pink. Hoped he had.

Not because it mattered. It wasn't as if Alec himself didn't have a colorful wardrobe. But Eliot was the kind of guy to throw six fits over getting called on it, and it would have been a shame to miss such a great opportunity.

He was getting distracted again.

He was also being a total girl, holding Eliot's pink shirt in both hands, staring blankly into the closet while pretending that he wasn't considering the grown up version of yanking-on-pigtails.

The sheer number of bad jokes he could have made about his train of thought, at that moment, was overwhelming. It was fucked, the way his sense of humor worked sometimes. Suddenly needing to get out of there, he shoved the shirt haphazardly into the closet, and headed for the stairs.

He was trying to find a parking space near McRory's, half-listening to Parker explain all the reasons that sun tea was disturbing, even without finding it spilled at a likely crime scene, when his brain spit out the data that he'd forgotten he'd been trying to recover.

At the auction house, where they'd come across Chaos's crew. When Eliot had met and not fought that Mossad chick, he'd been wearing that shirt.

It wasn't an epiphany, not really. But it was getting there.

He tapped the comm. unit back on. "Ah. Guys? I think I just figured something else we gotta check out."

\--- _  
_  



	6. Chapter 6

  
_Don't open your eyes. Safer not to. Deal with yourself first, then the rest of it._

For a room full of so much nothing, Eliot felt it all too much upon waking. The temperature of the room and the gritty floor beneath him was probably no different than before, but he was colder, now, he could feel it in his legs.

It took him a few minutes to realize it was because he'd been stripped.

It was the most obvious next step his captors could have made, taking away one more scrap of preservation and safety.

Knowing this, however, did not help.

 _If you want to come in all cavalry style_ , he addressed his thoughts to the team, imagining somehow it would reach them, _I really wouldn't mind._

It was as far as he went, though. Eliot Spencer did not ask for help.

He raised his left hand gingerly to catalogue the bruises, feeling a split lip here, dried blood there. He pressed careful fingers into the tender areas before letting his face drop to the floor again, as if the chill of it would reduce the swelling.

He wasn't so far gone- _yet_ , he refused to think- that he didn't realize he was just asking for an infection.

His beard- he was long past stubble now, and probably looked a mess- was itching, probably matted with dried blood and spit. He'd give his right arm, which felt alarmingly heavy and useless anyway, for a toothbrush.

He'd give his right arm on the _best_ of days for a lot of things right now.

Not wanting a repeat of before, he carefully opened his eyes, wary of brightness that wasn't there. The darkness was the smallest of mercies, though it didn't feel like it.

This was his punishment, then. Naked, cold, and hurting in total darkness.

This time around, Eliot didn't bother getting up.

\---

"Give me five minutes," Alec said, well aware that he was striding through Nate's door like he owned the place. He managed to get the laptop plugged in before the battery drained completely. "I'll have something for y'all. Just. Five."

He went back to the profile he'd started building on Mikel Dayan finessing it for a minute or two while reacquainting himself with the hitter's habits.

She had family in Canada, a younger brother and his wife. The only reason they were on Alec's radar at all was because the moment she got paid from any stateside job, she was on the next flight to Toronto. Usually flying coach.

It was an awfully mundane detail to know about her. Hell, even though he'd known Eliot for over a year, he _still_ thought the man should've been living in a bat cave somewhere, even if he was more the Fortress of Solitude type. A house with a shed in the backyard was so damned _domestic_.

It should have been easy to track when she would have left Boston, or would be, if he was tracking anyone else. She had the propensity for picking up new aliases like Parker stole keys, and never flew direct. Tracking her tickets was going to be a bitch, so he opted for plan B: Pearson Airport's security system. Once he'd proven she was there, he could figure out the when easily enough.

It just felt _right_. He hadn't had a hunch like this since he'd figured he could roll the Bering Aerospace stock through the London market.

He stood up, brought his laptop to the kitchen table, and sat down across from Sophie. Parker was leaning against the island, and Nate was pouring himself another cup of coffee, but all eyes were on Alec, as evidenced by Nate's scalded hiss.

He recovered quickly, though. "Okay, Hardison. Tell us what you got."

"Mikel Dayan." He wasn't sure what sort of reception he'd been expecting, saying the words, but he would have thought someone would have said something. Instead, the stares coming back to him were nearly blank, with just enough processing for him to know they hadn’t simultaneously fallen into a coma. A muffled "huh," from Nate was all he heard, but it could have been a cough, for all Alec knew.

"I don't get it," Parker eventually said, staring across the apartment at the large screens, which were dark, like she couldn't track the information without visual assistance. "I know we messed up their con, but we kept them from getting caught. Mostly."

Sophie agreed, apparently warming to the idea. "And I can't imagine any of them losing too much sleep about, what was his name, Chaos? Getting nabbed, or where painting wound up. That was Marcus's concern, not theirs."

Nate finally nodded, his eyes suddenly clear. _Buffering at 100%._ "Yes. But. What was the fallout?" Nate looked from one face to the next, waiting for someone to pick up the train of thought. No one answered, and Alec knew he wasn't the only one half-waiting for Eliot to take his turn in the conversation.

Nate had to answer his own question. "We screwed them. They didn't get paid. Yeah." He smirked, then. "Hardison, can you find any link between Eliot and Mikel? Figure out where their paths might have crossed? They seemed pretty cozy at McRory's after the job."

"Shouldn't I be trying to find out where she and Eliot are linked now?"

"I want you to do both. She doesn't look the type to let an opportunity she wants pass her by."

"My point exactly."

"Yet if it was her, it took her weeks to get around to making a play."

Sophie disagreed. "She seems like she'd take advantage of element of surprise, does she not?"

"No. No." Nate paused. "I don't think so. If it was personal, she wouldn't have waited. It had to have been money."

Parker narrowed her eyes and stared at Nate, possibly trying to read his mind. "How do you know?"

"She didn't get paid." Nate blinked at the blank faces staring back at him. "When we screwed up their job? Ring a bell? We were just talking about it thirty seconds ago."

Alec rolled his eyes. "If we know it's just money, then why do I have to waste time tracking down ancient history?"

"Because for whoever's _paying_ her, it's probably. You know. _Personal_." Nate nodded once to confirm the idea, and once at Alec.

"I see, right." Alec was already on it. "Between tracking her movements and her money…" he trailed off, already planning his strategy, scrolling down deeper into Dayan's profile, weighing eight different strategies for his approach.

Alec pulled his headphones on, chose a track off the Bloc Party's recently leaked album, took a breath, and dove in.

_Start with what you know. Grab what you need on the way._

\---

His limbs ached from curling so close to his body, trying to conserve heat that just didn't exist anymore, but his head was clear for the first time in days, the throbbing dulled into the background.

His thirst and hunger took the newly vacated space in his awareness to announce themselves with a vengeance, though. Still too shaky to pull himself up to stand, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself to where he knew food and water would be.

There was nothing, and he cast his left hand out, carefully, searching for anything, growing certain that there was more to his punishment than previously realized, when his ring finger brushed against something solid.

Water. In a plastic bottle. The lid was still on, and from the feel of it, the seal had not been broken.

Another careful sweep of his hand, and he heard the crinkling noise before feeling the wrapper. Rectangular, tightly wrapped. Grasping it with a careful turn of his wrist, finding the weight of it to be familiar, he supposed it to be food.

It was too dark to be certain, and even then, all anyone needed was a needle, but as far as Eliot could tell, it hadn't been tampered with.

Didn't mean he could eat it, though, at least not easily. He managed to twist the cap off the bottle with one hand, but couldn't manage the wrapper, not without making his right wrist scream in agony as he tried to hold it.

He still had his teeth, though. Even if they felt a little more loose in his gums than they should have been, they still managed to bite down hard enough to tear the wrapping apart.

Taking a bite, the texture was tough, and it tasted like nothing in particular.

_"Hey man,' Eliot said, ducking his head into Hardison's office. "You gotta come eat something."_

"In a bit," Hardison muttered, not so much blowing him off as barely paying attention in the first place.

"You don't eat, your brain slows down, you miss something, Parker and I get shot. So eat, already." Eliot glared at the back of his head, silhouetted by the screen's light. "'Sides. Can't make it three days without eating,"

"None of us will make it much further than that if I don't get the workarounds set on these security parameters, neither."

Eliot gave in. It wasn't the sort of advice Hardison was liable to take, but it was worth a shot. He could report back to Nate, tell him that he'd done as instructed. "Here," Eliot warned him, before throwing a power bar at his chest, too fast for him to catch.

Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the hallway, Old Nate staring down at him from the wall, and peeked his head around the door to see the empty wrapper abandoned on the side of the desk. Heading back to the conference room, he pretended not to understand Sophie's question when she asked him why he was smiling.

\---

The seventh time he widened up the time range, Alec caught up with Mikel going through customs in Toronto a few days ago, arriving about 36 hours after Eliot's flight left Kansas, on a ticket originating at Pittsburgh International.

He traced her path and Sarah Fayruz, her alias, back through the airport to the rental agency, where she'd returned a utility van that she'd picked up at the Hertz, not a mile from Eliot's house.

And she'd supplied a phone number when signing for the van. Alec set a trace on it, and within minutes, every single number the phone had connected to was logged on his computer.

He forced himself to set it aside for the time being. Digging a bit deeper, he found that the van, like most rentals these days, was equipped with GPS. It should have been the easiest hack ever. Accessing the GPS and mileage data from the system would be simple enough.

It was an older model system, with very little memory. If the agency wanted to keep the data from the tracker, they'd have to dump it onto a computer, effectively deleting it from the original device.

And that's where it stopped. Suddenly, the information led nowhere. From what he could guess, the computer was non-networked. He'd have to pull what he needed directly from the source.

\---

Alec pulled his headphones off and winced at the sound of angry voices falling abruptly into awkward silence as a door slammed behind him.

Alec coughed as he turned, trying a smile without really expecting it to work. "Hey guys-" Only one set of eyes met his. The second set of eyes was already halfway out the window, and the third had presumably taken the door.

"Sophie. What the hell's going on?"

"Maggie," was all she replied, as if waiting for him to read her mind. Eventually relenting, she sat down on the end of the couch with an angry sigh. "She's coming to visit." Her tone was arch, but her expression hesitant. She and Alec never talked. Not really. It was probably a bit of the geek versus the prom queen thing- mutual misunderstanding.

"What's going on?" he repeated, resolutely ignoring the accusations of _jealousy_ and _competition_ that his mind was supplying. He sat down at the other end of the couch.

"It's just." Her eyes widened in exasperation as she glared through the wall across from her. "Don't get me wrong. I expected it to be bad, what with the anniversary coming up, Sam's birthday, but…"

"Aw, hell," Alec interjected, realizing the calendar date. "Totally forgot about that."

Sophie shrugged. "And I know that she's the only one who could understand what's going on with him, but. I could help. I could be there, if he'd let me." It felt just awkward enough that if Sophie was putting on an act, she didn't realize it.

Alec sighed, wondering if this was about as honest as things would ever be. "I wouldn't force it. You'll be there when she leaves."

"Which one of us is sloppy seconds, then? Me or him?" Sophie smiled sadly. "And it's horrible of me. I mean. We've got bigger problems right now and I know it. Nate does too. But."

"There's not much you can do right now."

"That just makes it so much worse." Drumming her nails on the armrest, she sighed. "I keep waiting for him to saunter in here, reeking of alcohol and bragging about some swimsuit model down in Miami."

Alec's eyes flashed towards the door, half expecting it himself, now, but the door remained closed.

_Life's never as cool as it is on TV._

"But in the meantime," Sophie continued, guiltily following Alec's eyes to the door, "I think we managed to scare Parker off, too. I don't know where she went."

"I'll find her," Alec said, standing. "Any idea where Nate went?"

"Out for coffee, I hope. And he's probably going to call Maggie back. He _did_ growl out something about being back in twenty minutes, as he was leaving."

"That's good. Because I think I got something."

\---

"Parker?" Alec called, scanning the roof for any movement, and finding none. "Yo! Parker!" His breath fogged in the air, and the sight of it only made him realize how cold he was.

"What?" Her voice was clipped and half lost to the wind, coming from behind a chimney on the west side of the building. Moving towards it and around, Alec found her, sitting on the ledge, her feet dangling over the edge.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine," Parker said, angrily enough that she probably wasn't, not entirely. "They were arguing, and then Nate started shouting. I left. Didn't know what else to do, I got-" Parker sniffed, still not looking at him. "So I came up here."

"Right on. Nate's gone too, but he'll be back soon. Sophie filled me in. Maggie's wants to visit because it's their son's birthday."

Parker turned her head to look at him quizzically. "I thought he was dead."

"Exactly."

"Oh." Parker tested the strength of the gutter, her fingers flexing around pipes and into niches. Nervous, or habit, or nervous habit, Alec couldn't tell. "I forgot about that."

"It's okay."

"I don't know. It's just. I can't sit around here anymore. I need to be doing something." The frustration was clear on her face as she squinted out over the neighborhood. "I'm not good at. It's too much around here, with Eliot gone, and yeah, I mean, he's a jerk, but things never got this bad when he was around, you know? He knew how to talk to Sophie, rein Nate in. But instead of trying to find him, they're fighting." Parker laughed. "And I'm up on the roof again, so it's not like I'm any better."

"Yeah. But you didn't go any farther, right? So if you want to come back down, I think I've got something."

\---

Nate came in through the doorway with a cardboard carrier full of coffees and orange soda, the usual peace offering. He still held his cell phone in his other hand. "Ah. Guys?" He looked guilty, as if whatever he was going to say would be surprising. "Maggie's coming to visit. She'll be here tomorrow."

Sophie sighed, opened her mouth to speak, but Parker got there first.

"Does anyone here remember the part where we're in the middle of a job?"

To his credit, Nate looked apologetic, but not quite shamefaced. "I know, I know. But. Ah. She needs this." The unspoken _and so do I_ was heavily implied enough that technically, it wasn't a lie. He wouldn't even look in Sophie's direction, though.

Parker and Sophie both looked like they wanted to argue, so Alec cut in first, raising a hand, waving for their attention. "All right, all right. Seriously. People? Table this right the hell now. I have something."

"You find Eliot?" Nate's face contorted, and it looked a lot like hope crawling through.

Alec found the urge to hit Nate dwindling down to nothing, and wished he had more information that he did. "Not yet. But I tracked Mikel Dayan down to Pittsburgh, and I got her phone. Between phone records and the GPS, we should be able to find Eliot pretty easily." Alec took a quick breath, not wanting to lose the floor just yet. "The GPS data's stored on a non-networked computer at the rental office. Have to go there to find it."

"What about the phone records?"

"She made several calls on the same phone, mostly to set up the rental and her tickets, judging by the numbers. There is one other number, but it goes to a ghost phone. No identity, so it's either hacked, or prepaid. No one tied to it, but the number originates in London, and there's no recent activity on Dayan's phone, so I think she dumped it before she left."

"You think Eliot's in London?"

"Either service was set up there, and the owner's roaming, or it was set up to look like it originated there. Not much use either way, but I'm watching both that line, and Dayan's, in case any other calls go through. Hopefully, somewhere between here and Pittsburgh, we'll be able to find out more."

Parker nearly jumped out of her seat. "I'm coming with you."

Nate coughed, again looking tense, his eyes sliding over towards Sophie, who was pretending to ignore him. "I. Ah."

In light of the evening so far, the idea of sitting in a car with Nate and Sophie was a nightmarish prospect, so Alec thought fast. "For all I know, the trail could lead right back here. This entire thing could be a red herring."

Parker's eyes darted away from the back of Sophie's head to meet Alec's. "What if someone's waiting to know that we're back in town to come forward with a ransom demand? At least one of us should stay here."

"Or, you know. Two." Alec wanted to disappear through the floor for how awkward he'd managed to make it sound. Even Parker picked up on it.

Sophie smiled into her coffee, though, and Nate blinked once and snorted.  It was as close to approval as he was likely to get.

  
\---

Alec was packing up his computer, as usual, the last one to leave. He could tell when Nate's attention was on him, and began to dread the inevitable conversation to come.

_Don't even.  No.  This entire agony aunt thing's gettin' old, man._

Thankfully, though, Nate was all business. "How long will it take you and Parker?"

Alec hated this, more than anything. Deadlines. Like he had any clue where the information would take him as he followed it down. It would end up at Eliot, but between here and there? _Who the hell knows?_ It was half the reason he'd been fired from the two legit jobs he'd held, back in the day.  

"Depends on what I find and when I find it. Can't say, 'cause I don't know."

"Best case, worst case," Nate said.

"Best case. Get out there. Spend a day or so searching. Luck out with triangulation. Worst case. I'm wrong and this is a dead end. Look." Alec leaned his back against the counter and scratched at his ear. "There are a _lot_ of ways this could wash out. I only _barely_ have Mikel's MO down in the first place. Even then, I don't know if she was actually involved. If she is, I still don't know who she's working for, or with, or _where_ they are, or _what_ they're doing. So." Alec shrugged, dimly aware that he was the one unloading, that he'd had it wrong, before.

"You've got what you've got. Okay." Nate nodded his understanding. "Just. Be careful.  Let us know the moment you find anything.  Keep your earpieces in, and keep an eye on Parker.  Those trackers still in her shoes?"

"Yeah."

"Want them in yours, too. I want your car _littered_ with them. I want them in your _phones_ , and I want a way to see them on my computer before you leave. Got it?"

Alec pretended that he wasn't even tempted to grin.  "Program's already on your phone, man, and your desktop. Here." He held out his hand for the phone, showed Nate as he navigated through a few screens until a blinking red light became visible, two intersections away from Parker's apartment.

Nate nodded, took the phone back. "Thanks. Ah. For everything, you know. Let me know if you need anything."

"Oh I will," Alec grinned as he made his way to the door, hopefully forestalling any attempts Nate might make to hand him a bagged lunch and change for the bus. "Don't you _doubt_ it."

\---

There was a ticking noise, coming from somewhere up in the ceiling.

Digital readouts didn't need to tick. There was nothing in them to create the noise. No gears, no cogs.

The sound was being piped in just to fuck with him.

It was working. Too fucking well.

Forcing himself to calm down, to fucking think, he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.

Large digital numbers. Bright green digits on a small black box counting down, the only thing that would be visible in the growing dark.

They'd left him with food and water, enough to last him a week, in a cardboard box over in the corner. And they'd planted a bomb on his ceiling.

\---

Eliot tried to figure it out, find the point where it all went wrong. Thing is, really, it was only a few days ago. Things hadn't been that bad.

But obviously the guy in the picture was supposed to mean something, and it really sucked not knowing.

The man didn't look like anyone he'd killed- those faces, he remembered the most, except for one brutal night in a half-completed suburban house. The collateral damage had worn a ski mask, and the sirens were too close for Eliot to stop and identify the body.

That was sometimes a mistake they made. Wearing a mask only meant they were prepared to leave survivors. In his line of work, it was the sloppiest tell anyone could have.

But that was neither here nor there.

The worst thing about all this, though, was that he'd just recently started thinking that maybe, when the time came- and of course it would - he'd be going down for a good reason. A little bit of atonement, maybe. Something that his folks, rest their souls, wouldn't be ashamed of. If the world worked the way it was supposed to, he'd be putting his life down for the crew.

But Parker was dead, he was useless, and his attackers hadn't been wearing masks.

\---

_He'd been in town for the Oklahoma City bombing, but his father had been in the damned building._

Eliot volunteered in the rescue effort, but wasn't the one to find him. Some girl- Shawna or Shayla or something like that, the records weren't clear- was the one to catch sight of him in the wreckage, to report back that there wasn't a pulse.

Eliot never found out who Shawna or Shyla was, doubted that she'd ever known his father's name. Glancing around at the funeral a week later, knowing it was foolish as he did so, he found no strangers in the church.

Enough families were double booked on that front as it was. Had their own to attend to, that week.

He'd arranged everything, the funeral, the death certificate, the insurance. Groceries and visiting family. Mom had turned into a ghost, sometime in the middle of all of it all.

He never told her what the coroner's report had said. That dad had survived for several hours with internal bleeding and a broken spine. The filing cabinet had been all that was holding him together, and when it had moved? That was it. No more.

Eliot had been less than two hundred feet away at the time, searching through the wreckage, still hoping. He'd had no idea, wouldn't find out for another day.

  
\---

He wanted a bed. Sheets and a blanket, something more than this flattened cardboard box he'd laid out in an admittedly pathetic attempt to insulate himself from the chill of the floor. He wanted clothing. Socks. That shitty radiator in his first apartment. Someone else's body, solid and close. Fire.

He wanted hot tea. Soup. Something that he didn't have to chew, anything that would fill his stomach. Red beans and rice, collard greens. Something with vitamins in it.

He wanted to go home. Wanted to be working in the garden, grass under his knees, dirt under his fingernails instead of blood. Guitars on the radio and Loretta Lynn's voice.

He wanted to stop hurting. Tape for his ribs, enough morphine to take his body away.

He wanted to be clean. Water and soap and steam.

He wanted to hear other people, even if it was just Hardison cracking jokes. He wanted to have something worth laughing about. He wanted Sophie's calm voice, Nate's certainty. Even Parker's insanity would be nice right now, but fuck, Parker. She was. Fuck.

He wanted to stop thinking like this. Wanted to be who he used to be a week ago.

He wanted that timer to just fucking stop, already. Sudden malfunction, numbers freezing.

He wanted it to count down to fucking _zero_ , already. Just get this over with.

He was so goddamned tired, too tired to think straight, to remember things. Names and faces in pictures from somewhere he'd been. He wanted to rest.

\---

They were in Pittsburgh by two in the afternoon the next day, and had rented a car they didn't need to give Parker the opportunity to case the rental office.

"How to you want to play this?" Parker asked, slipping back into Alec's car. "Getting you into the garage should be easy. You think that's where they'll have the computer?"

  
Parker was waiting in front of the rental agency, pretending to talk on her phone and preparing to make a distraction if she needed to, but there was a line out the door of the rental agency, and the staff inside was already insanely busy.

Once the mechanic on duty snuck out for a smoke break, it was so easy to slip in through the garage entrance that Alec didn't bother asking Parker for help. It would have been an insult.

He found the most likely computer, an old desktop built into the wall, and was preparing to dive in, when he saw it.

Someone had taped a memo listing the new password to the front of the computer. Even better, it was the correct password, only set a day or two ago.

The heading of the memo read  _Computer Security: Do Not Post._

Alec allowed himself to laugh, quietly, but didn’t bother explaining it to Sophie, who was on the other end of the comms. "I'm in," was all he needed to say, anyhow.

He found what he needed, pulled the data from Dayan's returned van, and copied it over into his own computer. "Got it. Heading out, Parker?"

"Meet you at the car."

He was out of there in less than two minutes. _Easy as lyin'._

\---

Parker had said she'd be asleep in the room next door, but he could hear the sound of cartoons bleeding through the wall as he worked.

Ordinarily, it was the sort of distraction that sent him running for his headphones. Today, though, he didn't mind so much.

Didn't want to miss anything out in the world, not like he had yesterday.

He traced the van's route down from Boston, tying the GPS points from the file to his tracking program, watching as the map built itself up out of nothing. Deleting every stop that lasted less than 45 seconds, he wiped out most of the stoplights on the route, leaving him with less than ten locations to examine.

It probably wasn't the hardware store parking lot, and they'd already checked Eliot's house.

It probably wasn't the gas station outside Allentown, but he pulled up the local scanner records to be sure there were no strange reports.

It probably wasn't the drive through coffee shop, either.

The last point, the longest stop aside from the lengthy stakeout across from Eliot's house, was in Kittanning, Pennsylvania.

Middle of nowhere, or about as close to it as you can get. Mostly warehouses, and mostly abandoned.

She hadn't stayed there for more than ten minutes. Enough time to trade a hostage for cash and exchange a few pleasantries about the weather.

There was no _way_ he was on the wrong trail.  Alec was starting to breathe again,  found enough air in his lungs to laugh.  

He hadn't realized the earpiece was still in, and he felt bad, waking Sophie up like he did, because it was kind of late, but Parker hadn't really been sleeping _anyway_.

There was absolutely no reason to take that tone.  It was just rude.  

\---

There was no way to be sure how exact the GPS was, not really.  They had to check it out in person, driving around the parking lots, making a show of stopping and pulling out a map, shaking it open on the hood of the car.  On the dashboard, one of his phones searched for networks.

"Found three," Parker said from inside the car, and Alec was surprised to hear Nate's voice on the wire a minute later.

"Excellent, Hardison?"

Parker was confused as well.  "Nate?  You're-" she broke off as she watched Alec shoving the phone into an empty paper cup, and gathering the other detritus of their fast-food lunch before stepping out of the car, shoving it into a dumpster standing near one of the buildings.  "Thought you went to California."

"It was lunch and a walk in the park, Parker," Nate replied dryly. "Was never actually going away."

"Oh."  Parker grinned.  "Good."

"Ah, right.  So, where are we at? Need us down there?"

Alec got back into the car, glancing at the surrounding buildings one last time before replying. "Don't know yet. I'll give you a call in a few hours. I gotta work on some stuff, depends on what I find."

"Okay, that's good. Keep me posted, and I'll call if I don't hear from you. Got my phone on. And, ah. The computer."

"Right."

\---

This was insane. He couldn't figure out what his captors wanted. Couldn't make heads or tails of the photographs. Couldn't figure out a goddamned thing, because he couldn't concentrate on anything other than the green numbers counting down and down and.

In three days and change, he would be dead.

If they'd left him food, there probably wasn't anyone on the other side of the door waiting for his admission, his apology, for whatever he could give them.

He tried to call out, but it came out in more pieces than he meant to- words weren't lining up the way they were supposed to, and he didn't know if it was the drugs, something wrong with his jaw, or if it was brain damage.

He _meant_ to say, "I don't understand what this is about. I don't know who this is! What do you want from me?"   He really did. 

But he tried three times, shouting up into the camera, and each turn was more twisted than the last. Either he couldn't speak the words in the correct order, or he couldn't hear them right. He was pretty sure _understand_ wasn't pronounced _anderstond_ , but it didn't help him figure out if it was his ears or his speech or his memory that was broken.

It didn't seem to matter to anyone but him. There was no answer.

Eliot was too frustrated and annoyed to try again. He turned his head to hide from the camera, stupidly ashamed to have tried in the first place.

Even if there was nobody there to see it. Even if he was totally fucking alone.

\---

The first network had provided nothing interesting. Inventory listings, security and utilities monitoring. The warehouse itself wasn't actually abandoned, then, merely shuttered. Scanning through a few emails, he found that it would be reopened once the fire chief had verified that the violations had been taken care of, probably early next week.

The second network was more what he'd expect to find somewhere like this. Massive piracy, badly hidden. If he'd been bored, he would have hit the boards and found out who was running it, maybe bolstered their security for them if they weren't jerks. But he didn't have the time for it now.

The third one, though. It was different.

It was all being run off one new computer. It was the most generic out-of-the-box desktop on the market. Cheap enough to buy with cash without raising questions, especially if they were storing everything in external hard drives. Which it seemed they were.

Alec forced himself to back out, to double check his approach, make sure he was leaving no trail. Checked a third time, and again. Hadn't been this cautious since he'd hit Lockheed-Martin, just to prove a minor point to Eliot, back when things were sane.

Almost all of them looked to be video feeds. No email, no documents, no pictures. Not a single trace of pirated music or pornography.

It had solitaire, though, and someone had played a few hundred games.

Choosing one at random, he brought it up. Found a delivery truck driving past yesterday, time stamped and dull. Fourteen seconds, and it ended. Motion detectors, then, running the system outside. Good to know.

There was no way they hadn't been captured by this. Any other day, that would have mattered.

He began to pull them all down into his computer, before realizing that one feed was being recorded, and couldn't be moved, yet.

But it could be watched.

Eliot was naked, and from the looks of it, hurt. His right arm, at least, wasn't moving right, but to be honest, Alec couldn't tell blood from bruise from shadow. There were too much of all three.

The scruff on Eliot's face was mostly stubble, though, left too long.

There was sick feeling forming in his stomach as he tapped into the audio feed.

_Like it's not enough to watch, gotta be listening, too._

Hardison didn't want to do either, but he knew, already, that he wouldn't be turning off. Not once he recognized the ticking for what it was.

It was the only sound, though. Eliot wasn't saying anything, and he wasn't moving much. Just lying in the middle of the room, fingers clutching at some pieces of paper over and over again. He was lying there like he'd forgotten how to hide himself, and Alec wished, more than anything, that he'd turn his head just a fraction more, so he could see his eyes.

\---

_Get your head together, man._

Alec began to pull apart the scene, isolating images, cleaning up the audio tracks every time he heard Eliot breathe funny, or when his head convinces him that the ever-present ticking sound has changed in pitch or timbre.

He knew he should've called the others in by now. He should have done so an hour ago.

But Eliot was beginning to stir, moving too slowly. The image of him struggling just to sit up, and the flash of pain that the camera managed to catch, was burned too deeply into Alec's brain for him to think around it.

 _No one should have to see this, let alone_ … He was halfway to standing before the other thought dropped. _Fuck, Parker is going to see this. They all are._

_But they don't have to._

Ain't lying. It's for their own good. For Eliot's. Won't have to live it down if there's nothing to see.

It ain't lying.

He pulled up the security feeds from outside, turning the sound off and minimizing the live feed, before standing to stretch. He willed his body to move faster, slipping out into the hallway and to Parker's door, forcing himself to tap quietly, not to pound, to scream, to wake up the whole damned floor.

"Found him. It's bad," was all he said when it opened.  He couldn't lie _that_  well.

\---

"I gotta work on this some more," he finally summed up, adjusting his earpiece to sit more comfortably, "but from what we're seeing there were four people going in and out up until yesterday, except for when they brought Eliot in, and he's never come out. Now there's just one other person going in and out. Camera feed's too crappy to pull the plates without spending days cleaning the images, but I'm on it already."

"Okay. One person somewhere in the building, plus Eliot, who's locked up. Have you gotten a look at the door?"

"There's a camera in the hallway. Couple of crappy looking padlocks, nothing that some heavy bolt cutters won't handle if we're pressed for time. That's not the issue."

"It's the fact that there's probably a bloody bomb in there with him, and you don't know when it's going to go off." Alec could see the disapproval on Sophie's face, so clear she might as well have been in the room.

"Hardison. Parker." Nate was probably shaking his head. "Yeah. I don't know if it's a good idea-"

Alec shook his head right back, not caring that Parker was the only one who could see it. "If the other person is in there, we have to assume that they know about the bomb, and are going to clear out before it blows. As long as that person's in there, we've got a shot."

"Anyone with sense would clear out with plenty of time. Or maybe it's a fake bomb," Parker pointed out.

"Are they in there now?"

"Yes."

"When do they normally leave?"

"Every twelve hours, at nine, there's a shift change."

"That's in…"

"Seven hours," Parker nodded. "That's our window."

"I don't like it," Sophie said.

"I don't either. I don't like anything about this. But. We should do this."

"Parker, what do you think?"

"I want to go now, but that would be stupid."

"Fine. We're coming down there."

"We can't _wait_ , man."

"We'll catch up. Keep in touch."

"Right," Alec nodded.   _Fine._

Sophie asked, "Be careful. Is there anything you need?"

"No," Parker said, before looking over to see if Alec disagreed.

"Thanks," Alec said, signing off, waiting until Parker pulled her earpiece out.

"Everything we need except a plan," she said, crossly. "What if he's hurt?"

Alec sighed, nodding, pretending not to know the answer to that. "First, we need sleep. Four hours. We wake up, and we figure it out. We have bolt cutters. I'll ghost the security feeds. You distract the guard, I'll pull him out. That work for now?" Alec waited, breathless, for her assessment. It wasn't exactly the level of planning they were used to.

But sometimes, a little more fluidity was useful, apparently. Parker was still beaming when she went back to her room.

The moment she was gone, Alec was back on his laptop, pulling up the feed again, but there was nothing to see. And he had work to do, anyway.

He selected a loop of the security feed, checking the weather to check for rain, sun, and cloud cover before selecting three from the files that would fit seamlessly into tomorrow morning.

\---

He knew he'd fallen asleep only after jerking back to wakefulness, casting about for the signal that woke him. Trying to remember what he wasn't sure he'd heard.

Nervously, he looped the past minute for playback.

Eliot's voice, silent for days now, was little more than stuttering breath. "Fuck." Barely audible, but after so much silence, it had been enough to wake Alec. It was hollow enough, hopeless enough, that Alec figured he'd never sleep again.

Alec had no idea why his vision was blurring. Rubbed at his eyes, and his fingers came away damp. It was embarrassing. Eliot wouldn't let him hear the end of it. Ever.

The sooner Eliot was back, the sooner they could get on that.  Alec wouldn't even mind.  Not much.  

He was reaching for the keyboard again when he was overcome with the sick sense that he wasn't the only one watching. Somewhere in a warehouse a little more than a mile from here, someone was sitting just like he was, eyes on the same screen. Maybe taking notes.

Maybe they were riveted, and this was entertainment, a movie to them, and he'd come in too late to catch the plot.

Eliot groaned once, maybe in his sleep, and Alec was pulling up the screen so fast he didn't even realize he was doing it. He watched for a while, trying to make sure Eliot was still breathing, trying to make sure his own heart hadn't stopped yet. Trying to ignore the ticking.

He was wasting time. Had to get back to work. He kept the audio on, though, and listened, but Eliot said nothing more.

Alec only let himself enlarge the feed screen once every five minutes, to make sure Eliot was still breathing. Each time, he grew more certain that there were only so many turns he had left. He'd promise himself to hold out for ten minutes, next time, and every time, he failed.

He wanted to lie down, to get some rest. He had to be clear in the morning. Knowing it didn't help. But he couldn't bring himself to turn off the video feed. Didn't seem right to be listening to Eliot trying to breathe in the dark, but it was worse to shut it off, to leave him alone.

He drifted towards sleep to the sound of a bomb ticking down, and jerked awake every time it went off.  



	7. Chapter 7

  
It was an hour before his alarm was supposed to go off, but the clock was already ticking.

 _It ain't a clock, it's a damned bomb, and you know damned well that leaving the audio feed on can't be doing nothing good for your peace of mind._

Alec had upended most of his apartment, trying to guess what the hell a person was supposed to pack when preparing to kidnap someone who'd already been kidnapped.

 _Wait. Hold up._

That wasn't right. He wasn't kidnapping Eliot. He was _retrieving_ him.

 _Seriously. We're all doomed._

He was on his knees in his studio, rummaging through another bin of tools and art supplies and adapters for computers he hadn't used in years. His first set of insanely expensive and lately underused paintbrushes clattered to the floor as he dug deeper.

Finally finding the bolt cutters, he shoved them onto the pile and paused to take inventory, but his mind was still on the paintbrushes. He hadn't used them since doing up Harlan's portrait. Not for over a year, now. He missed it.

 _Focus, man. Later._

After the bolt cutters were in the bag, in went the bandages, just in case they needed them. A change of clothing, sweats, because he knew Eliot did. These he wadded up tight and stuffed into his backpack with a pair of trainers and some socks. Three different kinds of painkillers. The next round of fake IDs, and insurance cards for everyone.

He double-checked to make sure Eliot's was there. Checked again five minutes later.

H was going back a third time when he realized that the tapping noise wasn't actually a sleep-deprivation-induced hallucination, and it wasn't coming from the audio feeds, it was coming from the door.

Parker, who patiently had decided not to pick the lock, was on the other side, standing in the hallway with tissue-thin skin and bags under her eyes.

"You look like crap," she accused, pushing past him and on towards the kitchen, where she eventually ground to a halt, looking around for the source of the noise. "What the hell is that?"

"It's. Ah." Alec hurried over to his desktop, fairly certain that he'd minimized the video feed, but needing to be sure, even though it was probably too dark where Eliot was to see anything. Wasn't the point.

Pressing the mute button, he glanced up, only to find her scrutinizing him with a sad look on her face. There was a moment, there, where he was dreading the next words to come out of her mouth, but she merely shook her head and turned back towards the kitchen, evidently in search of coffee, or food, or something.

He'd catch up with her in a minute. He had to check something, first, and brought up the screen. Couldn't see nothing anyway.

Soon enough, he'd be seeing too much of it. As soon as they got their act in gear.

\---

If Eliot died right now, he wouldn't have to watch the countdown, wouldn't have to hear it. And at this point, it probably wouldn't even hurt anything but his pride.

It also pretty much guaranteed that the others would show up five minutes later. It was pathetic.

And it would hit them hard, Nate and Sophie, so soon after losing Parker. Alec would be the first one to get over it, probably. The guy was a geek, but he was probably the best adjusted of the bunch.

 _Not that you'd ever tell him that. Not that you're likely to get the chance._

Eliot almost laughed. Probably would have, if his ribs would've allowed it.

 _Man up. You ain't coughing up blood. You're fine._

Eliot tried to hold the thought in his head. Tried to think it more loudly than the other one that refused to fade out.

 _Don’t care._

He probably should have died a thousand times somewhere else. If he hadn't taken up with Nate's crew, he would have been dead a year ago. Wouldn't have been able to afford turning down that gig in Manhattan that O'Mally had offered.

Eliot had only known Turner by reputation, and what he'd known, he hadn't liked. It probably had taken those three dozen bullets to put him down. He never found out whether Turner had known he hadn't been the first choice for that job.

But he could probably ask him pretty soon, if he wanted to, down in the pit.

He hadn't believed in that for a very long time. Probably never had, not really, but he'd gone and sat and fidgeted through church every Sunday as a kid, and anyway. It was one of those things you couldn't help thinking about, knowing you'd have been dead for days by this time next week. Deathbed conversions were probably more common than people knew. As common as death itself.

Eliot took a breath. He could do this. His father had managed it. Grandpa too, way back when. Turner, in another empty warehouse on a Tuesday afternoon, his mother in a hospital a thousand miles away less than a month later.

And there were the lives Eliot himself had taken, probably including the man in the photos.

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

He reached for the pictures, meaning to wad them up and throw them into the corner, but his shoulder ground stiff and fierce, though the rush of pain felt something like warmth. It was almost worth it. _By the way_ , he addressed whatever godlike being was working the lines, _all that stuff I said, about not wanting to die in a hospital? Changed my mind._

\---

Parker pounded on the warehouse door with a stressed pout on her face.

Hardison waited in the van for her to start talking about the weather, the signal that they were on their way towards the office, but hadn't made it yet. They'd guessed it would take about twenty or thirty seconds to make it through the empty reception area, and back to where the security monitors were.

Parker would distract the guard all she could, but both knew there was no guarantee.

"I'm not Sophie. Be ready to run," she'd said, sliding the utility van door almost completely shut.

Alec tried to watch his breathing. Closed his eyes and just waited.

The next ten minutes or so, he knew, would be some the most stressful of his life, this, he knew.

He hadn't expected the waiting to be this hard.

 _Maybe they won't answer._

Maybe they're not near the door. Maybe they're down in Eliot's cell, killing him right now.

Maybe one of them slipped out the back and is creeping up on the van right now. Open your damned eyes. Pay attention.

\---

 _"Seriously, man. Look up from your little flashing box for a minute and take a look around, would you?"_

"Hey Bro, I am watching y'all six ways from Sunday and back again. You're in the steam tunnel, about seven feet below Nate and twice that to the west. Parker's in the office, and Sophie is coming out the door right now and crossing the lot. She should be getting into her car right about…" he heard a door slam on the left side of the van, and the sound of the vintage MG's engine turning over. "Now."

Eyes darting over to the other feed, he saw Eliot flipping the bird and waving it around, clearly not knowing where the camera was down there, but wanting to make sure it was seen. "Oh, and by the way. If you're finished? There are five guys coming down the stairs. Should be there any second now. You done with that wiring yet?"

"Dammit, Hardison!" Eliot growled, his voice going quiet. "When we get out done with this, I'm gonna-."

"Sure thing. Meet you at the playground after school."

\---

"Thanks, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I could have _sworn_ I plugged my phone into the charger before I went to sleep last night."

"No problem, ma'am. The phone's just back here."

"Thanks." There was rustling, and the sound of footsteps and Parker's breathing as they walked into the building. A few more steps, and she gave the signal. "So, you think we're going to see any sun today at all?"

Alec checked the straps of his backpack and slid out of the van and across the parking lot. Easing the front door open, he peeled back the tape Parker had left over the bolt, preventing it from connecting.

He stalked carefully across the reception room, until he reached door that led to the stairwell. Mindful of any noise, he carefully turned the handle, half expecting to find it locked.

Something was on his side. The handle turned, and the bolt slid back into it's housing.

The first hard part was done.

He had to force himself not to run down the stairs. He was in, the cameras where ghosted, and he had the run of the place. All he needed was silence.

Some areas of the basement looked more familiar than others. There was only so much a man could learn from security monitor feeds and a twenty year-old blueprint.

The warehouse was nearly empty, barren metal shelves here and there, and a fire extinguisher that had seen better days waiting in a cupboard. Other than that, his path was clear.

Nate and Sophie's flight would be landing soon, he told himself. He wanted to be gone before they made it out of the terminal.

Turning once, he saw the door to Eliot's cell, down near the end of the corridor.

He couldn't bring himself to grin as he passed under the useless camera, but he couldn't quite stop himself from muttering. Beyond Parker's call to a dummy line, there was too much silence on the line.

"Get in, get Eliot, get done and gone," he repeated to himself in a whisper. "Get him and get gone."

Nothing had changed. The steel bar was still there, still held in place by a large metal clasp and a padlock. Two more steps now.

Another moment later, and he was peering in through the metal grate at Eliot, his fingers closing over the padlock as he slid the pack off his shoulder.

"Get in, get out, get gone." He slid the bolt cutters out of the pack, and clipped the lock. "Don't get us killed, and get gone."

Peering through the grate, he could see Eliot lying on the floor. _He's just sleeping. Nothing more._

"Yo man! Gettin' you out. Hang tight just a little more…"

Tugging the lock out of the way, he shifted the heavy steel bar that was holding the door closed, but Parker's insistent voice tugged his attention back to the comms.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she was saying. "Please, put the gun down."

They were blown. Fuck.

\---  
As long as he kept his breathing in time with the ticking, the sound of the air passing into his lungs blotted out the noise a little bit, or at least gave him something else to focus on.

Besides the fact that it's gotten colder in here. They left, and there's no heat anywhere in the building. _You're going to freeze, and if you're lucky, it will happen before you're buried in warehouse debris._

 _You have to eat. Get your strength up._

Struggling up onto his elbows, he managed to hook the corner of the box of power bars and drag them closer, before lying down again in disgust. Eliot's stomach was so badly cramped from hunger that he probably couldn't have kept any food down if he tried, and at this point, there wasn't much point in taking pains to ensure a longer survival.

 _You really want to go out like this? Giving up? Pussin' out?_

No. Yes. I don't know.

I don't want to be here anymore.

So damned hungry, though.

It was getting harder to think in straight lines. Maybe he was going insane, maybe it was the crack to the skull he'd taken. It was also getting a lot harder to care about anything other than the fact that he was cold and alone and probably dying.

There was something wrong with the timer, it wasn't sounding right anymore. More of a shuffling sound and a murmur. Still keeping a steady pace, but not the right one.

Eliot tried to follow it, he really did, even if he was only imagining it, because there wasn't much by way of new experiences for him to look forward to. Madness, though, he could afford.

The shuffling was growing louder, and the whispered murmurs began tumbling into words. Something in him, probably the same something that kept trying to get him to eat, made him turn his head toward where the sound seemed to be coming from.

"Get in get out get gone. Okay… this thing, the rest will sort … out."

It was coming from the other side of the door, but it brought nothing else with it.

 _Until_.

 _There_. He saw it. A hint of movement, heard zippers and rustling and scraping, and something that sounded like his name.

"Yo man. Gettin' you out. Hang tight just a little more."

 _Hardison_.

They were here. They'd come.

He wanted to call back, to tell him to hurry, to do something, but he didn't know where to begin. Didn't have the words anymore, but fuck, didn't matter. Wasn't like Hardison was one who needed anyone else to get a word in edgewise.

He could start by getting his sorry ass up off the floor, though, already wondering if Hardison had another radio on him, if he'd be able to hear Nate directing Sophie through conning the guards while he tried to make sense of Hardison's computer, trying to keep their path clear.

Hardison was talking again, but this time, it took even longer to understand what he was saying, and by the time Eliot parsed it, Hardison's footsteps were already running down the hallway.

"I'm sorry," he'd said. And then he'd left.

\---

 _Nate should be here,_ Alec thought, his fingers slipping away from the door as his feet carried his body towards the stairs. _Eliot should be. Hell, anyone but me._

"I mean it. I'm alone, I just need to use your phone- I'm. Look. Here," Parker was saying, and he wished she'd give him a signal, something to expect, because at the moment, he had no plan, no training, no idea what he was doing. Just a heavy set of bolt cutters.

 _Screw it._

Trying to stay silent, he inched down the hallway towards the office, sure that any moment he'd find the creaking floorboard that would set the guard off.

The door was slightly ajar, and swung inward when he burst through to find Parker standing against the far wall, still as a statue, staring back at him.

Or maybe she was staring at the gun that was now pointed at his head.

Alec glanced at the face glaring at him behind the barrel. The guy was huge.

Nate and Sophie were still an hour out at least, and Eliot was down for the count. They would be no help.

 _"You seeing this, Hardison?"_

"The situation has my attention, yes."

You see? That's why I don't like guns. They have a specific range of efficacy. See, most guys make one mistake. They get too close."

Alec wasn't Eliot. But he had played some football down in the yard.

He could do this.

 _Operation This Will Most Likely End Badly is a go._

Staring ahead at Parker's frozen expression, not telegraphing a damned thing, he just had to wait, until-

 _Now_.

"Where are your friends?" The guard, distracted by the words coming out of his own mouth, broke off as Alec fell against him, knocking him into the wall and tumbling down with him as the gun fired wild.

He'd check for damage in a minute, too busy elbowing the guard in the face to look now. Parker was there, twisting the gun out of his hand before he could get another shot off, and leaping away, backing to a safe distance, her aim trained all the while.

She looked like she knew what she was doing. "My bag," was all she said, and Alec threw himself back and away. Grabbing the edge of the desk, he pulled himself up. As he rose, he couldn't help but notice the idiotic connection array at the back of the computer. It looked wrong- one Ethernet cable too many trailing out of the computer and trailing down towards the floor, all jumbled up with speaker cables and who-the-hell-knew what else

One of these days, he'd have to get working on that entire focus issue. For now, though, he was scrambling for Parker's oversized purse, finding handcuffs, zip strips, duct tape and nylon cord.

Once the guard was bound, they stepped out into the hallway, Parker keeping her eyes trained on the guard, the gun in her hand, low and ready. It wasn't a good look on her. Alec nudged her gently, needing her to look him in the eye for just a minute, so he could be sure. What he needed to be sure of just then, he didn't pretend to know. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Parker was speaking in a clipped monotone again, the one she used when she was seven kinds of stressed. "Where's Eliot?"

"Just got the door open, think he's still down there. Gonna take a few minutes."

"What's taking so long?"

 _He needs a few minutes to freshen up_. "He's taken a few hits," Alec said, because it wasn't a lie. "But I got it."

"I'll keep an eye on our friend, here." Blinking, she realized that Alec was still there. "Go. And. You know. Be careful."

He backed through the door, not quite willing to take his eyes off Parker just yet, but that wasn't the issue right now. "Grab the external drives, too," he gestured towards the two metal cases on the desk, one still connected.

"Right. Holler if you need me to shoot this guy. I can be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail," she said brightly, clearly enjoying the unease in the guard's eyes.

"No doubt. I'm out."

He was halfway down the stairs before he realized what he'd missed, what it was, in the middle of all this, that was making him uneasy.

 _"Where are your friends?"_

It wasn't just that the guard had been waiting for Nate and Sophie- it wasn't the fact that he knew about their existence, though that was unsettling enough. It was the fact that he knew them well enough to expect them.

Knowing that they weren't there, having that one edge in the information race, didn't give him the charge it usually did. And he had more immediate things to worry about, anyway, down at the end of this corridor.

\---

The shot echoed off walls and stairs and threatened to bring the entire world down with it.

And who knew, maybe it did. First Parker, now Hardison, or maybe it was Sophie, up there, bleeding out on the floor, Nate scrambling to push the blood back in.

Someone else's life flashing across their eyes, when he was supposed to be the only one with tickets for that particular show.

He knew field triage. Blood was dangerous when it wasn't controlled. They'd have to pull out, get Sophie to the hospital, transfusions and doctors and stitches and cold plastic seats in the waiting room. Bad coffee and waiting.

Maybe they'd think about what they'd had to leave behind, down here in the basement.

 _"The thing about hope? It hurts more than love does when it leaves," his mom had said, sitting next to him at the kitchen table and trying to explain why they had to go to the church even though it wasn't a Sunday. "Sometimes, even when things look like they're supposed to go right, the body just gives up."_  
 _  
Eliot was seven, and Grandpa had been sitting right there across the table a week ago, before the hospital, before all of this.  
_  
Years later, and this was probably the closest he'd ever been to the guy. _But Grandpa had died in a hospital bed, and he hadn't taken anyone else down with him._

\---

Alec threw the bar aside and opened the door, wide, waiting for Eliot to walk out.

He didn't, though. Didn't even move.

Eliot was curled around himself in the corner like a dog that knew it's time was up, too tired of living to track Alec's movement towards him.

He'd lost so much weight it was like a part of him was missing. Alec could figure out the percentages later. His skin was too loose in some places, too taut over his bones in others. Alec could see the detail of too many bruised ribs as Eliot breathed. The fingers of his left hand were splayed out over his shoulder, the nails broken and ripped down to the quick. And his eyes.

Fuck, his eyes weren't tracking anything at all, just staring like they were made of glass, turned towards the ceiling. When Alec moved closer, they stared right through him.

It was near impossible to hear anything beyond the ticking of the timer, but Eliot was breathing.

 _Only mostly dead, then_. But not far enough away from it that Alec could take his time. He cast his eyes around the room, until his eyes lit on the object that had attracted so much of Eliot's attention.

The timer, counting down, in the neighborhood of 45 hours. For once, at least, his life wasn't going to play out like the movies. Even with the setback, they would still be long gone before it hit zero. As long as he stopped contemplating all the ways the James Bond movies were wrong and just got them out of here.

Crashing to his knees in front of Eliot, casting an appraising eye over his body and forcing the overwhelming panic down.

 _Ain't like you didn't know this was coming._

He took a breath, and then he spoke.

"Eliot. Eliot. Hey, wake up man. It's me."

"Hardison?" Eliot's voice was rasping and quiet and entirely without hope, but Eliot rolled his head to look in his direction. "Can't-"

Alec never found out what it was that Eliot couldn’t do, already talking over him.

"Shit, man. Gonna get you out of here. Got a clear path out and we'll get you help, okay? First, though, you gotta help me. Talk to me. Are you hurt?" He reached for Eliot's arm, finding it cold to the touch.

Alec would figure, later on, that he shouldn't have been surprised by the sound of Eliot's weak humorless laughter, even if the waking expression on his face looked like madness.

"Is he all right?" Parker's concern was blistering in his ear.

"Hang on a minute," Alec shook his head. "Eliot, man. Stay with me, here."

"Har'sn?" Eliot was still staring down at his arm where Alec was touching him. As answers went, it wasn't much, but there wasn't a lot to be done for it.

"Okay. Here," he said, tugging the clothes free of his pack. "Gonna get you sorted. Can you move?"

"Yeah." And Eliot did, then, though it was slower than Alec would have liked. Still, it was more than he'd been expecting a minute ago.

"All right, come on. Here." It was a testament to how bad off he was that Eliot didn't grumble or resist, but let Alec pull the sweatpants up his legs and tug the shirt down over his head. "Watch out, I got ya." Elbows weren't meant to bend the way Alec needed them to, but Eliot wasn't complaining.

Eliot wasn't doing much of anything at all- he'd faded out again. His body, though, seemed aware of Alec's presence, though, even if his mind wasn't. Alec could feel the twitching through the fabric and under the skin, and babbled, not wanting to guess what it meant.

"Get you out of here, get us somewhere safe. Got a few of your IDs on hand, and we'll get you to the hospital. Just gonna need you to hang on for a bit, you hear? Ain't no way I'm putting up with cleaning up after your dead body, so you're gonna have to help me get you out. Gonna need you to walk, in a minute. There are stairs, but then it ain't far. Parker's got the situation under control, she's covering our exit, and-"

Hardison pulled the collar down over Eliot's downturned head, fingers brushing against matted stubble and down behind his ear, tugging Eliot's hair free. There wasn't much he could do about getting the other arm into its sleeve, though, and Alec cursed himself for not thinking this through. "Sorry, man. I didn't know about your arm when I was packing. Gonna have to make do with what we got, just a little while longer. And by the way, this is where you tell me to shut the hell up and that everything's fine. Just so you know, you're totally blowing your lines, and-"

Something he said must have gotten through, though, because Eliot's eyes were still swimming, but they were searching out his face for the first time since Alec had gotten there. "Park'r s'here?"

"Yeah. She's fine, you can-" he broke off at Parker's interruption.

"I'm _not_ fine, I'm holding a gun on a guy. Tell Eliot hi for me!"

"Tell him yourself. Hang on."

Alec patted down his pocket, finding the earpiece he'd brought along and fitting it carefully into Eliot's ear. It wasn't necessary, but it wouldn't hurt, either.

"Parker, go ahead."

"Eliot! We missed you! I. I'm really glad you're not dead. Um. I'll tell you about everything you missed when you get out of there. Hardison, you need help?"

"We got it under control," Alec felt his face cracking open in a smile, trying to find the socks he knew he'd packed.

The grin fell away the moment he looked up again.

Eliot Spencer was not supposed to be curling his head down into his own shoulder, hiding his face. He was supposed to snap out of it with a gruff "c'mon," and fight Alec every step of the way as they headed for the door.

The things Alec was wrong about were starting to pile up, and they needed to be out of here before he the whole mess of them toppled over.

The socks were on, and the shoes were a size or two large, but they'd do. "Parker, give us a few minutes to get up the stairs, we're almost ready to go."

"Finally. I don't think Shane here likes me very much. He's glaring at me like I stole his mother, and I haven't even met her yet."

"We're on our way. Hang on." Alec looked down again to find Eliot turning his head up towards him. He was shaking his head in confusion, but Alec didn't know where the explanation was supposed to begin. "Come on. You ready to get out of here?"

There it was- what he'd been waiting for. Staring at Alec without meeting his eyes, Eliot began the messy business of sitting himself up.

Getting him standing again was equally awkward, but his legs seemed to be the least injured parts of his body. Didn't mean he was steady, though. If Alec took one step back right then, Eliot would probably go down.

"You ready, man?"

"Yeah. Just." Eliot's hand twitched in the direction of the pictures scattered on the floor. Moving slowly, making sure Eliot would stay standing, Alec stooped to shove them in his jeans pocket.

Moving slow, and looking like it was taxing him something fierce, Eliot was already making his way to the door.

But he was doing it under his own steam.

If it wouldn't have startled Eliot, Alec would have shouted his relief, but instead, he inched down the corridor pretending that he didn't actually need to be following Eliot so closely.

\---

Eliot wanted to lie down again, wanted to rest, but if he didn't go forward and up, he'd go down and take Hardison with him.

Hardison, whose hands had been warm and real, and who was climbing not one step behind him. Who was fucking _there_.

There would be time for relief later, when these stairs, that room, this entire fucking place was nothing but a speck in the rearview. He just had to make it there.

And he was so damned close, there was sunlight, glaring in through the probably-not-really-so-luxurious windows, and already the air was less stale, even if it felt thin.

 _It's just the exertion, he told himself, gonna have to get used to it before you head back to Kansas. Got holes to dig.  
_  
Eliot wasn't heading for Kansas, though. Right then, he was heading for the floor.

\---

Alec grabbed at Eliot, but wasn't fast enough to keep him from hitting the carpet he'd tripped on.

"Parker, come on!" He shouted, forgetting that he didn't need to, as he stepped over Eliot and began to pull him up again.

Eliot was still shaking his head, and Alec was pretending that he hadn't expected him to be unconscious, when there were heavy, plodding footsteps coming from the hall leading to the back office.

The guard- Shane, apparently- wasn't having the easiest time of it, not with the gun pointed at his back and Parker's irritated glare following him into the room.

"On your stomach," she instructed, and Shane stumbled hard, not having his hands to balance him as he knelt, and he fell forward, landing face down.

With one final angry assessment, she decided he was secure enough for the moment, and she twisted her head, looking over her shoulder with a wide grin, leaping towards them. Without dropping the gun, she helped settle Eliot on his feet, and immediately came within a hair's breadth of knocking him over again, crashing against him so hard, wrapping her thin arms around his back, pressing her face next to his.

"Thanks for not dying," she said, pulling away, only then becoming fully aware of the state he was in. Eliot, for his part, wasn't aware of anything but her, staring at her like she shouldn't exist.

"You too."

\---

Eliot didn't recognize the world anymore, or maybe it was just the warehouse across the road. But the sky was larger out here, and too much freedom for being so close to a highway.

The entire world had been out here, going about its business while he'd been inside.

The nausea was threatening to take him down, but he'd spent too much time on his knees lately, and it didn't matter, anyway. Hardison's hands were back, holding him up by his elbow, and there was another warm spot on his lower back, through the soft cotton, and he didn't say anything when Eliot stumbled against him. Just gave him a moment and walked him to a van that was parked nearby.

Parker moved fast and efficiently, like she had never been dead, and slid the utility door open, crawling inside before swinging around to reach out to him.

He stopped short, brushing against Hardison again, feeling his grasp tighten on his arm.

 _It's a trick. She's here to take you across the river._

"Eliot?" Her voice was too wary to be the ferryman, and this was a parking lot, not the River Styx.

"C'mon, man." Hardison said, quietly, like he was telling him a secret. "We need to get you to the hospital. Get in."

\---

Twisting in his seat to secure his seatbelt, because he'd had enough of death-defying antics for one day, Alec glanced over at Parker.

His eyes caught on the gleaming jewel at her neck, part of the disguise she'd decided to use. It wasn't the type of thing she usually wore, he half realized, and looked again.

And then he saw clearly. It wasn't a ruby. It was a sniper's laser sight nestled in the hollow of her throat.

"What is it? Drive! We-"

"Hold up," Alec said, still staring. Parker scowled at him in irritation, before trying to follow his eyes down.

"What? What is it?"

"Ah." Alec realized then that he had no idea whatsoever how one was supposed to go about telling a person that someone had a bead on them. Warning her, telling her to move could have been just as deadly as telling her to stay still. "Ah. Parker."

"What?"

 _But they could have shot already. Could be squeezing the trigger right this moment_. "Don't move." He met Parker's eyes, which had gone from confused to concerned, and he shook his head, staring her down. "I don't want to alarm you, but. It seems that we've got company."

He put his hands up, raising them to shoulder height, and looked out the windshield.

Across the street, up on top of the other warehouse, there was a small aberration. And then it moved, rising.

Parker saw it too, and Alec was pretty sure that her startled gasp sucked the last of the air from the van.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know, I. _Fuck_."

There wasn't one part of this entire situation that had gone according to plan, and it was starting to look like Alec had missed something. This was his fault.

"The windshield might deflect the bullet," Parker said conversationally, but her muscles were starting to tense, she was coiling to move.

"Might not." His eyes darted down towards the dashboard. If only he'd managed to get the van started already, maybe. If he floored it, went forward instead of backward, the sniper would lose his target.

But he hadn't gotten that far.

By the time he lowered a hand to turn the key in the ignition, they'd both probably be dead, Eliot not far behind.

The shattering of glass, when it came, wasn't even a surprise.  



	8. Chapter 8

  
Alec's head bounced against something, hard. Maybe the back of the seat, maybe the frame, he couldn't be sure, but it hurt like a bitch.

Outside, rubble was still falling as the van continued to rock, shaken by the explosion. Each shudder sent more glass loose from its frame, sending it raining down over the front seats.

Parker had blood running down the side of her face, as she unclenched her eyes and turned to check on Alec. Alec found himself mirroring her movements, feeling his face gingerly, careful not to cut himself on the razor sharp splinters.

As far as he could tell, she'd borne the brunt of it.

"Parker?!"

"I'm _fine_ ," Parker shook her head, scowling. "It's nothing. You?"

Still shaking his head, trying to clear it, he decided, "I'm all right. Eliot?" He twisted, trying to see back into the swimming darkness of the van and getting no response. "Eliot!" _Gotta check on him._

With a final look through the nonexistent windshield and almost as an afterthought, he tried to search out the sniper, but there was no one on the roof. The guard was already halfway across the parking lot, destination unknown.

  _Probably scared off by the explosion, or at least by the attention it's going to bring._ It was as safe as it was liable to get.  _Doesn't mean he went far_.

"Wait here," he told Parker. "Keep a lookout." His body ached as he opened the door, and he nearly fell to the ground. He felt himself starting to weave. I _t's just the adrenaline wearing off. Too many muscles relaxing all at once._ Coughing as he used the van as leverage, he eased around to the side and slid the door open.

Eliot was still lying there, curled in on himself, one arm over his head, like he was waiting for the rest of the world to finish collapsing.

"Hey man," Alec crawled in beside him, glancing nervously up over the seat towards Parker. "You alright?" He reached out to brush over Eliot's shoulder, a move that any other day probably would have landed in the emergency room.

 _Ain't like we're not on our way there anyhow._

He ran his palm carefully down to Eliot's elbow, feeling the warm breath at his fingertips as he passed near Eliot's face, just barely brushing against Eliot's matted beard. Under his arm, Eliot's head was rocking back and forth. He pulled his arm down, in towards his chest, but didn't shake off Alec's hand. He tried, for a moment, to turn his head, but got as far as catching one glimpse of Alec before settling again. Speaking to the interior of the van, which had evidently provided better protection against the blast than the glass up front had, he rasped, "What happened?"

"There was an explosion-" Alec said, and he wasn't sure it was his words that caused Eliot to go so suddenly pale, but he hurried to continue. "Think the bomb was set off. Parker's a little cut up, but we're fine."

Eliot started to say something that sounded like "did," "dad," or "dead," but cut himself off with a cough. Just as well. Alec wasn't feeling too verbose himself at the moment, either.

His hand was still settled unnoticed in the crook of Eliot's arm. _Got better things to be doin' than worrying about awkwardness. Focus, man_. Squeezing gently, he pulled away as Parker's startled shout swung his head in her direction.

"We got incoming!"

Alec craned his neck to see through dizziness and the rear door's smoked windows, just in time to see the silver sedan pulling into the parking lot, aimed unerringly in their direction.

\---

 _Lord, not now. Ain't got time for- Shit. What do we do?_

There wasn't enough time to get up front and get the van moving before the car reached them, and anyway, it was blocking their exit.

 _You could always get out and run_ , his brain offered unhelpfully. _If you don't have anything better to do._

Slamming the door shut behind him, he swung into the driver's seat, not quite carefully enough to avoid the glass Parker hadn't managed to sweep aside. He startled as a sharp pain announced itself in his palm. He didn't need to look down to see the glass stuck in it, and anyway, he could deal with that later. He could make himself deal with it later. They had to get out of here.

His foot was on the pedal, the keys in the ignition, and the van was actually starting.

He didn't bother to stop and appreciate the miracle, just started turning the wheel.

" _Hardison_!" Parker's shout stopped him before the sight of the car slamming to a stop three feet from the bumper did. He was too startled not to stomp on the brakes.

Over the hood, staring back at him as she edged the passenger side door open, was a panicked looking Sophie. On the other side of the sedan, the door was already slamming shut, Nate stalking hurriedly around towards the van.

He was asking "What the hell's going on?" even as Sophie started in with "Did you find him?"

He couldn't not laugh, even if he couldn't find the joke. It was Parker who answered.

"Eliot's in back, needs a doctor. We're fine. The bomb went off."

Sophie dove for the side door of the van as Nate stepped back to let her pass, glancing back towards the road, already thinking.

"Okay. We need to get out of here. Can Eliot sit up?"

"Mostly, I think. Not for long."

"Okay. You and him are riding in the back of the car. Sophie, you're driving. Parker-" he broke off, catching a clear look at her for the first time. "Your face."

"Just some scratches."

"There's a first aid kit in my pack," Alec said, stepping tiredly out of the van and truthfully, acutely aware of how glad he was that Nate was there to run things. That it wasn't all on him anymore.

Nate was nodding at Parker. "Grab it, then. You doing okay enough to help me ditch the van?" Parker nodded, rummaging to find what she needed before tossing Alec's pack to Nate, who transferred it to the car.

Turning back towards the van, Alec could see that it was taking a massive effort for Sophie not to react to what she was seeing. He could almost see the words trying to sort themselves out in her head.

He couldn't blame her for going so pale. He felt a lot like throwing up too.

Off in the distance, there were sirens.

Scrambling, he had to force himself to not just reach in and yank Eliot out onto the pavement. Instead, he slid in next to him, offering an arm where he could, something to clamber up against so he could swing his legs out of the van.

With Sophie there for him to lean on, Eliot managed to stand much easier than he'd done before, and made his own way to the car.

Nate already had the door open, and was watching him with keen concern, but Eliot didn't notice. Eliot hadn't looked at either of them since they'd arrived. Alec wondered what it meant.

 _Don't mean nothin' at all, and you got plenty of time to think on it on the road._

Shifting his legs to make room, he settled in next to Eliot, watching out the car window as Nate said something to Sophie that Alec didn't quite catch, understanding more when her hand went from her pocket to her ear, swiveling her comm. unit into place as she hurried around to the driver's side.

Alec wanted to say something to Nate, wanted to ask him something, but he was already slamming the door shut. As soon as Sophie was seated, the sedan turned, and the van slid from view.

\---

If he sat up straight- and for a moment, there, he'd tried- his ribs would have started screaming again. It wasn't worth it, so for the time being, he let every turn the car made, every vibration coming up from the road, settle his body a little closer into Hardison's.

Hardison wasn't saying anything, it was probably killing him not to, but for now, Eliot figured, he'd let himself play the injured card. Long as anyone wasn't asking.

And besides. He was out of that place that wasn't even a place anymore, that was really, from what he'd been able to tell, just a pile of rubble. Still nowhere anyone wanted to be, but that space that he'd occupied had been filled in. Didn't exist anymore, even if he couldn't stop seeing it as he screwed his eyes shut a little bit tighter.

Now, though, he just pictured that space filling in, concrete and filing cabinets and rebar crushing in on him, against his ribs and stealing the air from his lungs so he couldn't call out, couldn't get Shauna's or Stella's or whoever's attention.

 _You don't need to. You're out. You're here._

He was dimly aware of the fact that he didn't know where here was, exactly, but if he wanted to figure that out, he'd have to open his eyes and ask.

And he'd probably find Hardison there, all too willing to tell him, looking down at him like he knew damned well how bad things were, like he knew every thought running through his head. Leaving him with nothing that wasn't his alone.

 _Like that's something new._

Hardison was solid against him, and didn't move away, and his skin, in the small spaces where Eliot's touched his, was warm.

His arm hurt like a bitch, and he knew he should move. He would, in a minute, but for now, the heat was worth it.

If anyone asked, Eliot was asleep. It wasn't too far from the truth, anyway.  
\---

"I'm not trying to be. You know. But shouldn't we be with them? It's not like we can't afford to pay for the damages on the van."

"We can't afford to have the damages traced back to the warehouse."

"Hardison could probably-"

"Hardison's probably got a concussion. He's dead on his feet and it's probably just hitting him now. No. What we're going to do is ditch the van somewhere, and grab a taxi back to the hospital. So. In the meantime. Tell me what happened."

"Um." Parker thought for a minute. "We got in, there was only one guard. I distracted him while Hardison went after Eliot," she said, following Nate's lead and shoving her comm. unit into place. Not bothering to see who else was on the line, she continued. "He spooked, and. Oh! He asked where you two were. Had a gun. Hardison came up and we took him out, tied him up. Got him out of there when he did, but he ran off. Eliot wasn't doing so good. Awake but not really there, but he was mostly moving on his own. Got him into the van, and were ready to get out of there when the building imploded."

"Did you see the detonator?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask Hardison, but he didn't seem like he was expecting the bomb to go off while we were still there. Oh! And there was a sniper on the roof of the warehouse across the street. He could have had a remote detonator."

"A _sniper_?" Sophie's disbelief crackled loudly in their ears.

Nate turned off the main avenue as the fire truck crested the hill, speeding towards the warehouse. Glancing in the rearview, the police cars that followed had evidently made no note of the van. He sighed, a little more heavily than usual.

"Okay, so Sophie. What's the story when you get to the hospital?"

There was a murmuring in the background, evidently Hardison wasn't on the line. A moment later, Sophie answered.

"Agent Brakowski has been in deep cover for the past eleven months. Two weeks ago, he fell off our radar, and we sent Agent…" Sophie paused, before confirming, "Agent Harris in to recover him."

"Okay, good," Nate nodded, already going into spin mode, reciting their cover, giving Sophie her lines. "We recovered him from a tenement downtown, and apologize that we cannot share more details, as the investigation is ongoing. Might want to remember that any mention of their presence would not only blow the case he's put so much into, but it would attract the exact sort of attention that no hospital is built to handle. You've got the IDs you need?"

"Two undercover agents and a very stressed but otherwise beautiful section chief, coming up," Sophie tried to answer lightly. "Let me know when you two arrive at the hospital, and I'll step out to slip you your badges."

"Hardison's got covers for _all_ of us?" Parker's question turned into a dry cough, but she waved away Nate's offered water bottle.

"Three full sets at least," Sophie replied, amusement showing through. "I'd give you the full rundown, but I'm just hitting traffic."

"Don't crash!" Parker coughed adamantly, this time accepting the water.

"Right. Well. Be there in a bit. How're the guys doing?"

Sophie didn't reply for a moment, and Parker swung her head, her face tight with worry at what the silence could mean.

"We're about five minutes out," Sophie sounded like she was trying to assure the entire universe, trying to set reality. "It's going to be fine."

\---

By the time Sophie had turned out of the parking lot, Eliot had either gone unconscious or catatonic, Alec couldn't be sure. Not without turning to look.

And he didn't want to. If he saw Eliot fading out on him, dying on them, Alec wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from freaking the fuck out.

If Eliot was looking better, more aware, whatever, then one of them might have to start talking.

He just needed a minute.

Alec stared out the window, aware of little else besides motion and the dim realization that he had no idea where they were going, that the landmarks passing by probably meant something to someone, but not to him. Under all that was the strip of heat along his right arm, where Eliot's shoulder was pressing in, a bit too closely to be ignored.

Blinking out through the window, he realized that they were probably due for some rain.

Sophie was asking him questions, then, but mostly talking to Nate. If Alec could've found the energy to go into his pockets, he could have dug out one of the comm. units and gotten in on the action, but for once, he was willing to let the information pass by unheard and unknown.

For now, he'd just sit there, letting the vibrations from the road lull him into a stupor, and try to ignore the pounding in his head.

They pulled up to the emergency room entrance, and Sophie left the car running as she hurries inside. Alec was dimly aware that there was something he should be doing, but he couldn't figure out what it was, couldn't find the energy to try. The idea of moving made him sick. Dizzy. He still wanted to puke.

 _Chill_.

In a few moments, they'd be inside. There would be the usual antiseptic smell and cold fluorescent lights shining over walls painted in neutral colors, a failing attempt to make the hallways seem healthy, alive and calm. There would be doctors, nurses, and a rush of questions while everything got sorted. There would be the usual tension at the back of his neck while he worried that they wouldn't buy the story, that he'd missed something while forging their identification. That he'd grabbed the wrong insurance cards.

For now, though, he sat next to Eliot and waited for Sophie to go start digging them out of the mess he'd made.

\---

Alec tried to wave off the nurses and the doctor, tried to get their attention to where it needed to be- _on Eliot! I'm fine_ \- but he was outnumbered and outgunned, and they were leading him to a bed but not letting him lie down. Shining lights in his eyes, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

Blinded by the light, it was hard to see what they were doing, where they were taking Eliot.

The hands of some nurse named Rita were pushing and pulling and poking and prodding at him, and he wasn't sure that he didn't actually try to swat her off. He wasn't sure of much at the moment, other than how tired he was. He was only dimly aware of Sophie's voice, talking to someone about medical records. She said something about security and a private recovery room.

In the background, there was a beeping, too slow to be counting down seconds, edging everything else out of his consciousness, and eventually, edging Alec out too.

\---

It took him a few minutes, but Eliot could remember making it to the gurney, but then nothing. A blank space that went on too long, interspersed by brief flashes. Strange efficient hands. Footsteps in the hallway and muted voices talking fast.

He wasn't sure he'd been aware of them at the time, but he was coming out of it again.  
The ground beneath him was too soft, the lights too bright and muted all at once.

But the cold was back.

They'd taken his clothes, the ones Hardison had brought him, and somewhere in the back of his head he'd had to know it was coming, but it didn't help buffer the shock and indignity of it all.

The hands were back, two sets this time. One set was shoving his arms this way and that, and the other was trailing a warm dampness that froze on his skin, and he wanted to tell them to stop, to leave him alone, but they were ignoring him. Or maybe they didn't notice.

The gray haired woman seemed to be talking about her daughter's karate classes. Or maybe a movie she'd seen, he couldn't be sure. Couldn't concentrate enough to find words, and he was too tired to be sure that his attempts to move, to get some distance, weren't just batted away without a glance.

He just wanted to be left alone, figure this out. Assess the situation and move on, but he couldn't think with all this going on.

When he rolled his head to the side, it felt like it never stopped moving, continuing down through the pillow, down and down.

They'd drugged him. They'd fucking _drugged_ him.

They wanted to keep him weak, complacent. Keep him down and under control, and if-

 _Where's Hardison? Parker? If they-_

There was a clattering out on the other side of the curtain, something falling to the floor, and he only really noticed it because one of the nurses jumped, dropping his arm, which wrenched as it fell to the mattress.

 _They're coming back, going to get you out,_ he thought, but then the younger one carefully picked his arm up again, resettling it at his side with a look on her face that looked like apology. Sympathy maybe.

It was all wrong. Didn't make sense. If he could just get clear-

 _You need to think. Use your fucking head. You're fine._

They had realized he was awake, and were smiling calmly down at him as the older one began to speak.

"Hello, Agent Brakowski. Good to see you're back, that is, if you're done fighting. We're just about done getting you cleaned up. We'll get some clothes on you again, and the doctor will be back to- don't touch that," she caught his hand en route to his face, where there was something touching his skin. "We've got you on oxygen as a precaution, okay?"

Dropping his hands, he nodded, too distracted to figure out why they were calling him Brakowski.  He missed hearing his own _._

But there was sense to be found, now. They were nurses. He was in a hospital. They got his name wrong, but who knew what the hell he'd told them when he arrived- he couldn't even remember getting there.

 _Warm cotton and a moving car. Back seat. Clouds moving in outside the window, and Hardison next to him as he tried to keep his eyes from searching out Sophie's in the rearview mirror._

\---

Alec woke up to Parker's stare breaking into a tired grin that pulled at the bandages on her face. She looked like she was about to say something, but even then, Alec startled when her voice echoed in the hallway outside.

"Hey! Ah, guys? Harris is awake!"

 _Harris? Oh. Right._

Sophie's heels clicked across the floor as Nate followed in exhaustion.

"Ah. Hey guys," Alec waved, squinting them into focus. "How long was I out?"

"Not long," Nate looked to Sophie, who answered Alec's next question.

"They're moving Eliot into a recovery room any minute now, but they've already ducked out to tell us he's going to be fine. You got him out of there in time."

Alec's grin felt more tired than it should have been. "Age of the geek, baby." Sitting up was awkward, but he was relieved to find they hadn't changed him into some nightgown or something embarrassing like that.

For long moments, the four of them were left floundering for something to say. It lasted until Parker, all adrenaline worn off, yawned heavily.

"Let's get you to the hotel," Sophie said, hand resting on Parker's arm. "Nate's already made reservations for the three of us."

" _Three_ of us?" Alec could feel the panic welling up, and already his head was beginning to throb again as worst-case scenarios played out. _A thousand different doctors walking into the room, gripping clipboards with trained seriousness. "We've found something…"_

"I feel _fine_. Ain't no reason to be leavin' me-"

"On the down side, you've got a concussion. On the up side, you'll be rooming with Eliot once they get him moved in. Easier for us to maintain security, see. The three of us will rotate. You're probably going to be released first thing in the morning."

"But."

"You _really_ feel like moving more than fifty feet right now, you let me know," a voice said from the door, and Alec turned to see a woman pushing a wheelchair into the room. She was young, but something in her reminded him enough of Nana that the only response he could possibly make was no, ma'am.

Sitting absolutely still and on his best behavior, he watched Nate usher Parker and Sophie out of the room and half-listened to him explain that he'd be back in half an hour.

 _That's something, at least_. He wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of having them watch him being wheeled out in the chair.

He wasn't counting on Sophie waiting in the hallway outside. Leaning in close, she whispered, "We'll be back soon. Keep an eye on him," before kissing him on the temple.

He pulled a face, pretended like it wasn't making him feel any better, because there was only so much humiliation a man could take.

The nurse, though. She just laughed.

\---

Eliot was starting to doze off again, still thinking about the doctor's words.

 _"Stay in bed…between the dehydration and malnutrition…rest…renal function, hopefully you won't need dialysis but we're going to be monitoring it 'round the clock…but if the pain gets worse, we can up your dosage…"_

The usual, then.

In another few hours, he'd start fighting it, probably. Go find the others, who were probably nearby.

Or maybe closer, judging by the racket coming in through the door. Hardison.

"I _can_ walk, you know. It's my head that got hit. Ain't like some shark came along and bit my legs off."

"That would be impressive, though," a woman's voice replied in a stage whisper. "Concussions, I've seen plenty. Just hang on…get you situated here. Okay, Mister FBI, _up_!"

Eliot swallowed, rolling his head slightly to look at the door, seeing only the curtain shifting to the side.

"A'ight, see? I'm fine."

"Then you're well enough to keep it _down_ , aren't you? Agent Brakowski needs to rest, so _you_ need to stay quiet. I _can_ sedate you if need be."

"That a good idea with a head injury?"

"You passed out when we drew blood earlier, and you're still here, so I'm not too worried."

"I am so going to call the American Medical Association when I get out of here."

"Let's get you out of here, first, and I'll give you the number myself. Now _hush_. I'll be back in a bit to check on you. If you're good, I'll even bring you a magazine. I think we've got enough copies of Highlights to keep you entertained for hours."

"Great." There was a pause, then, and Eliot had to strain to hear what came next. "Um. Hey. Is he. Ah. Can I see him?"

The nurse must have acquiesced, because the curtain was beginning to move, though Eliot slid his eyes shut before it opened completely.

"He looks…"

Eliot listened hard, needing to hear, needing to know, but for once, Hardison fell quiet and stayed there.

That's not good.

"He's resting," the nurse's tone was kind. "But he's going to be fine."

A few moments more, and she drew the curtain closed again, and Eliot allowed himself to breathe.

The nurse was talking again, her voice serious and quiet.

"You got him out of there. From what your boss said, you got everyone out. It went great."

A few moments later, and the door was closing again, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Eliot listened hard for a few moments, and wasn't even surprised when he heard it.

"Yeah. Great," Hardison muttered with a quiet snort.

Eliot wished he hadn't closed his eyes, wished he hadn't pretended to be asleep. Setting aside the entire notion that his first instinct had been to do what he could to hide, he was slowly catching onto something, here.

 _Visitors don't get put in hospital beds._

But Hardison had been talking, he was probably going to start in on some rambling dissertation about some inconsequential thing or another any minute now, and everything would start inching back towards normal. Eliot could lie here and listen, pretend they were in a hotel somewhere, out on a job, and that he only ached because the bouncer had turned out to have a black belt or three.  Pretend to sleep as Hardison's voice washed over him like a blanket.  

Any minute now.

\---

Eliot had looked bad. Didn't matter what the nurse said, they were trained to say that sort of thing. Keep everyone calm and quiet.

He resented the hell out of it, and on any other day, he would have been most vocal in his disagreement, but.

Eliot looked bad. Asleep or comatose or who knows, he was lying on the other side of the curtain, on his back with tubes coming out of his face.

He'd been totally still, and laid out like he was rehearsing for his funeral.

Alec wanted to call out, get his attention, get him talking and alive again. But if things were half as bad as they'd looked, well.

He could shut the hell up for once in his life.

He lay back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, already impatient.

He needed to get out of here. Somewhere he didn't need to worry about the sound of his own breathing, somewhere with a connection.

The guard got away, had made it a good distance by the time they were pulling out.

 _And there was the small matter explosion large enough to shatter glass. It would probably make the news. Gonna have to get on that. Start tracking the photographs, too._

And there's the sniper.

He needed to get back to work. Needed information, needed to know what was coming down the line. Needed to do something other sit there in depressing silence straining to hear Eliot's breathing.

He still had his watch on, and it had been twenty minutes since the nurse had left. He could get up, if he wanted to. Peek around the curtain, even if it only served to confirm things he didn't want to know.

 _He needs to sleep. He doesn't need you buggin' him. Man up and shut up._

Minutes later, there was still no sign of the nurse, no doctor coming through. If Eliot started fading out, there'd be no one there to stop it.

For all Alec knew, Eliot could have been dying in his sleep, quiet, and leaving no one the wiser.

He wasn't surprised when his feet found the floor, but he was pleased to see that the dizziness had passed, and with it, the nausea.

Careful to tread lightly, he edged around the curtain, watching Eliot for signs of waking, and forcing himself to take stock.

Alec wondered briefly if hospital gowns were designed to make even the healthiest wearer look like they were at death's door.

The arm on Eliot's far side was bound, and looked like it had been set. The gown left most of his other arm bare, revealing skin that had been cleaned, as well as a bandage around his elbow. There was an injury there he hadn't seen before. Could've been a scrape, could have been twenty infected stitches, for all Alec knew.

 _Could have been avoided._

Working his way up, trying not to notice the oxygen tube lying across Eliot's face- _that's good, though, right? If it was bad, he'd have one of those plastic masks over half his face._ The swelling around his eye had gone down quite a bit, but the shadows and bruising were as apparent as before.

And through it all, Eliot was as still as the dead. And apparently his sixth sense, the one that told him that someone was about to come around the corner swinging a lead pipe, or that Parker was trying to make a grab for his glasses again, was no longer working.  

Hardison wasn't sure how long he stood there, arms crossed at the foot of Eliot's bed, just staring.  



	9. Chapter 9

  
It was still dark outside, and Eliot was awake for what felt like a long time before he noticed that he wasn’t alone. Another moment passed, and Nate noticed it too.

"Eliot!" his voice rasped from the chair at the foot of the bed, but he was trying to talk quietly for some reason. "Good to see that you're awake. How're you feeling?" He rose, stepping towards the bed to stand over him.

He could feel the weight of Nate's eyes on him, pressing into every bruise, grinding over every scrape, pulling apart every cut to see deeper. The gown and bandages didn't cover it all. Too much was left open, exposed.

Eliot had never been so aware of relative positions in his life. Lying here, there wasn't any further he could get. And Nate didn't look like he was planning on stepping back.  
He shook his head, as if it would offset Nate's closeness, and tried to shift, to sit up, but his ribs protested too strongly. Like he needed to give Nate any more proof of how weak he was.

"Take it easy, Eliot. We're in the clear for now, and we'll find the people who did this. Looks like two got away, and we got some information off the guard's wallet. We're on it, but I'm going to need you to tell us what happened. You up for it now?" Apparently one look told Nate all he needed to know, and he backed off apologetically. "It can wait a bit, until you're feeling up to it. No rush." He rocked on his heels, once, like he had too much energy, and Eliot wasn't giving him anywhere to go with it.

"You don't need to stay," Eliot ground out. For an opening salvo, it wasn't much, but he managed to hold Nate's eyes long enough that he should have been convinced.

"Huh?" Nate shook his head, distracted. "If someone comes after you, you're in no shape to fend them off. Besides. You, Parker and Hardison could have been killed yesterday, so…"

If he could only get free of the painkillers. Wake up properly and get out of bed, he could show Nate that everything was fine. That he had it under control. That he didn't need anyone sitting watch, staring down at him like they knew everything already.

Nate moved towards him, hand outstretched like he was preparing to shove Eliot back into bed if he had to, and Eliot hadn't even realized he'd moved.

The fact that Nate had done so, though? It was all too much.

"I'll be fine," he tried. "You don't need to lose sleep over it. I'll get out of here-"

"You're in here for a reason. And we're not leaving you alone. And it's not just because I'm. You know. Worried. I've got the others to worry about as well. And they're. Ah, you know."

"Worried."

"Right." _Because you messed up, got yourself beat_ , Nate didn't say, but Eliot heard it anyhow. "Right. So. Ah. Go back to sleep. Rest up, and we'll get you back in the ring when you're out of here."

Nate seemed distracted, not really looking at him, but he talked a good game, he always did. But Eliot knew the score. When your hitter couldn't hit, it was time to move on. Nothing personal. Just business. It was smart, logical, and Nate knew it, but he was too much a white-hat to say so.

Nate was staring out the window, somewhat dazed, or maybe just lost in thought, and Eliot took the opportunity to study his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and needing a shave and a change of clothes, Nate looked beat to hell, like he needed the sleep more than Eliot did.

But he was still planning things out like he assumed there was still some sort of future, or and that Eliot had a place in it. Desperation, maybe, or denial.

Because it took one hell of a set of blinders to assume that Eliot would be up to the task anytime soon. Though the IV drip had run its course last night, he was becoming resigned to the fact that the other tubes might be staying in a bit longer. He didn't even want to get up, truth be told.

But he didn't want to be there, either. It was the only thing on which he and Nate agreed.

If Nate was in this much denial now, he had to wonder what he must have been like, before. Hours spent in uncomfortable waiting rooms, impatient for the doctors to give him news on his son. Another round of test results, another suggested treatment.

 _At least then it wasn't the kid's fault,_ he thought, though he wasn't so far gone that he'd say it aloud. But if Eliot hadn't fucked up, Nate wouldn't have to be here, now.

But Nate was leaving, anyway. Nodding once, he said "I'm gonna go see what the doctors have to say about Hardison."

Eliot hadn't even thought to ask about him. He stared at the ceiling, listening to his own breathing, and added one more thing he should have done differently to the list.

\---

Nate was waiting outside the examination room, and smiled widely when Alec told him he was being released, but his face was weary and haggard. He looked like he'd been up all night. Probably had been, sitting in the chair, keeping watch.

Alec wished he could think of something to say that didn't relate to Nate's son. The other options, though, weren't much better. Eliot was so much on their minds that he was sure he should probably be trying to think about anything else.

Before going to see the doctor, he'd ducked his head around the curtain, just checking, and Eliot hadn't stirred.

He hadn't looked like he would be stirring any time soon, either, and even though Alec knew better, even though he'd heard the same reports from the nurses, he couldn't stop thinking about how close it had been.

It was probably the kind of thing someone should say something about, but he wasn't that guy. Nate wasn't, either. He just handed Hardison his jacket with a tired grin and headed for the parking lot. "Sophie's going to drop Parker off here," he said, pulling the car door shut. "After I get you to the hotel I'm going to head out, go track down the guard. See what he knows."

Alec nodded, waited until they'd turned out of the lot to ask, "Don't you need me riding shotgun on that?"

Nate snorted. "I caught you, didn't I? Caught up with all of you, at some point, even without having you on the line. Think I can manage one guard." His eyes slid over towards Alec as he smirked, some of the usual life showing through. "Besides. Parker got his wallet."

"But." Several arguments were boiling over in his head, but I already screwed one job up wasn't going to work in his favor, and now he was getting hung up on shouldn't Eliot be the one to go with you? Nate must have sensed it.

"Hardison. Look. You need to focus. I want you takin' it easy, but I also want you on comms, running what you can from the hotel. You took a hit yesterday-"

"And I'm _fine_ now."

"-and we all know that you're the best one for the job."

"I ain't gonna argue with that. Just. Don't seem right, is all."

"None of this is right. But it's just a temporary thing, you know? Eliot'll be fighting his way out of there in another day or so."

Alec sighed, shook his head, and apparently Nate wasn't expecting the disagreement. "What?"

"You seriously think everything's gonna go back to normal the moment he walks out of there?"

"Not right away, but. Yeah. Look. He freaked us out, and he's probably a little freaked himself, which is something we're not going to point out to him. But. He's not made out of glass. This won't break him."

Alec wanted to agree, he really did, but he wasn't there yet. "You know that for sure?" Alec looked down at his hands, annoyed that he was asking for the confirmation, feeling like an ass for saying it out loud.

"I have to. So do you guys, and so does he." Nate cut Alec a pointed look before turning his attention back to the road.

"Hey, man, look. I hear ya, and I don't want to be the one to rain on anyone's parade, but. What if the man ain't ready to hear it?"

"We tell him anyway." Nate stated with a shrug; apparently the topic was closed. "Now look. In the meantime, Parker said you grabbed some hard drives from the warehouse?"

"Yeah man. Mostly security footage, who knows what else, if anything. But I'm on it. Soon as I get in."

"Good," Nate nodded. "Because if our guard's a bust, it's our only lead."

  
\---

With Parker's pale face staring down at him so sadly, he wasn't sure which of them was the ghost. He still had a body that could feel pain, so he knew he was still alive, but Parker's silence told him nothing.

She got you out of there. Her and Hardison. Use your head, you know this already.

Taking a breath, because one of them had to speak, he blinked heavily and asked, "What?"

In the time it took to open his eyes again, everything had changed. Maybe it was because she'd stepped from the gray and into the light, but there was color in her face again, or maybe it was because she was just smiling. Maybe it was just motion that gave her life, but when she bounced one knee on the bed next to him, shifting the mattress and his ribs with it, pulling the blanket tautly over his bruised kidney, he felt like he was dying.

This time for sure.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, springing back as Eliot slipped and let the agony show. "I forgot. Are you alright?"

"M'fine." He swallowed thickly

"Good. That's good. I. You weren't moving much. Hardison was here too, told me you were fine, but he's gone now. Been gone a while."

"Gone?" Eliot's throat wasn't working right, and maybe his ears weren't either, because Hardison- he'd been fine, right?

"They released him a few hours ago," Parker explained. "He's probably going to have a headache for a day or so, but he's okay. Nate took him to the hotel to get changed and stuff. I brought you a present!"

Eliot blinked, trying to track her as she stepped towards the nightstand and failing. Trying to string the words together to ask for more details about Hardison, he was in no way prepared to fight the stuffed bear that she shoved into his field of vision, and would have recoiled, probably, but there was nowhere to go.

"Um. Thanks," he said, reaching up to take it, considering it more closely as if it could explain it's own existence. It didn't even explain why it was wearing a green sweater, just stared at him with dark button eyes. It was a ridiculous thing to be contemplating.

But Parker, when he glanced at her, was bouncing on her feet. "Sophie helped me pick it out. I was going to get you a horse, because I know you like those, but they only had them in blue, and there were no markers to make it look more like a real horse."

Eliot nodded, as if it made sense. _Okay, so in Parker's world, horses aren't pink, but bears wear sweaters the same color as the one Hardison wore_ \- the door slammed on the thought before he even knew it was there.

"Um. Thanks." He toyed with the idea of trying to sit up again, but his chest was still feeling twisted in knots and his shoulder was throbbing. His body felt like it was swimming as it was, and it wasn't anything he wanted to think about. Instead, he sighed, blinking against another rush of cold oxygen hissing straight for his brain. He felt lightheaded again, but he needed to know. Taking another deep breath, he found the air to ask, "What's going on?"

Parker scowled, apparently thinking it over. "Nate said that we're supposed to let you recover, not to bother you with things to worry about."

Distracted by sudden vertigo, he almost missed her answer, and it took him a few moments to parse it. She'd just told him two things. One, that there were things to worry about, and two, that they thought he couldn't handle them.

If his distress showed, and Lord, he hoped it didn't, Parker didn't notice. She was already on the other side of the room, which seemed to be falling further away. He could hear her voice calling for a nurse, but he couldn't figure out why.

\---

Nate was just arriving at the address he'd gotten of the guard's ID card, and it was about damned time. It had taken him long enough to get out there that Alec had already scanned the photos he'd grabbed from Eliot's cell, started the facial recognition program, and started in on the hard drives. Nothing too deep, just surveying.

The first, the one that had actually been plugged into the computer, contained all the security footage from the warehouse. Unedited live feeds of the parking lots, the hallways, and the room where they'd kept Eliot.

The second hard drive apparently served as an archive. A quick perusal gave him little more than hundreds of hours of Eliot's suffering. It didn't look edited, but there were breaks in the footage, minutes missing here and there where the camera had probably been turned off. It wasn't the most elaborate setup he'd ever seen. The system, from what little he could see of it, was the kind of thing an underpaid guard could be trained to handle, no problem.

Aside from tying the bombs to the system, if his suspicions regarding the computer's wiring job were anything to go by. For all he knew, removing the connected drive from the computer could have set it off. _Great_.

He'd check it out more completely later, try to enhance what little he had. The information he wanted, their best chance at getting the sniper on camera, was probably back on the first drive.

There wasn't anything he could do to figure it out now, even if he did want to go back and sort through the rubble. Hopefully, the outside footage outside would tell him everything he needed to know.

But for the moment, everything he needed to know right _now_ was beginning to come over the comms. Nate had arrived.

"I'm here," he said, and a car door slammed shut. "Going in now."

"You know how you're going to play it?"

"Depends who opens the door." A few moments passed in near silence, and then Nate was talking to someone.

"Is this the Geffin residence?" There was a pause, muted words that the microphone didn't pick up. "It is. Ah," Nate was about to start talking his line, but he'd been interrupted.

Alec sat up a little straighter, closing his eyes to hear, cursing the world for making him sit in a room miles away from disaster, unable to do anything but take it in. It was starting to wear on him.

Nate's tone, when he spoke again, was surprised, disappointed. "Oh. I. Well. I must admit, this is a shock. Ah. I'm sorry for your loss. Ah. No, I don't want to interfere, I just. What? Oh, no. I." Alec could almost hear the other voice, female. "No, that's okay. I'm guessing right now you're not too interested in listening to canvassers talking about the city council elections. I don't want to disturb you more than I already have, I. I'll just be on my way."

Alec glared at the ceiling in annoyance, and listened to the car door slam shut again. A moment later, Nate spoke. "Apparently, Shane Geffin died yesterday. I just spoke to his wife."

"Shit." Alec shook his head, ignoring the dull throbbing that was setting in again, and pulled up his browser, pulling down the headlines. "They found his body in the rubble after a gas line exploded at a warehouse on the North side."

"You sure you saw him leaving?"

Alec rolled his eyes, forced himself to unclench his fist. "Yes, and he was running away from the building, or, more accurately, away from Parker, who is quite terrifying with a gun in her hands." His eyes traced the path Geffin had taken across the security footage, once, back, and again, but something wasn't quite adding up.

"Looks like someone's cleaning up after themselves."

"Uh huh." Alec checked the time stamp in the corner of the screen, and felt the floor begin to drop out from under him. He must have made a sound, because Nate was asking, "Hardison. What is it?"

 _I fucked up. Big time. "Still got that wallet on you_?"

"Yeah. IDs, credit cards, business cards. Think you can get anywhere with them?" Nate asked, already knowing the answer.

"Ain't got no choice," Alec said, trying to think, trying to work around the edges and find a way through. _This can't be happening._ "Hey. Ah. You know how we busted Eliot out?"

"I'm _aware_ , yes."

"Nah, man. I mean. You know _how_."

"Not the specifics."

"Well I might have some bad news. Gonna keep looking, but." Alec "In order to get in there, I had to make sure the security cameras didn't see us."

"Right."

"So I looped some footage and fed it to the system. The thing is," Alec swallowed and wondered if he was going to be sick. "While it was doing that, the computer wasn't actually getting any information from the cameras."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Normally? Yes, that's excellent. But think about it. The one timeframe where the cameras definitely would have picked up someone, say, for example, a man with a rifle, moving around outside?"

"Hardison," Nate sighed. Alec could see him pinching the bridge of his nose from here. "You're telling me you got nothing but your own fake footage?"

"Ah. Yeah. That's what I'm telling you," Alec stared at the wall and waited for the hammer to fall. But it never came. Nate remained silent enough that Alec could hear his footsteps as he made his way back to the car. "Yo, Nate. I'm really damn sorry, I know I messed up. Wasn't thinking ahead, didn't think it through, I-"

"Hardison, shut up."

 _And here it comes,_ Alec thought, glad that no one else was on the line to hear whatever was coming next. _Should have planned it out better, should have seen this. Should have known.  
_  
"You got Eliot out. That's what matters. We've got other avenues we can take for the rest of it, all right?"

Alec nodded to the empty hotel room, wishing he had Nate's optimism. "All right. Yeah."

\---

The X-rays told him what he'd been wanting to believe anyway. Not broken, just fractured. Even so, the doctor explained, while they were going to lower the stream of oxygen, she wanted to keep the canulla in for another day or so, and she wasn't letting him out of there on his own feet any time soon.

"We don't want you stressing your body any more than you have to, right now," she explained, apparently preferring mental stress as a treatment method. The indignities were starting to pile up, and the worst of them?

The fact that he was too messed up to fight them. Eliot let them shift him back onto the gurney, and managed to keep from reacting when, a while later, she told him that the catheter had to stay in at least until his next batch of test results had come in.

He thought, for a moment, that maybe his head was sorting itself out, getting itself back together, because he knew, even before he saw her, that Sophie would be waiting in his room when they rolled him through the door.

Mercifully, the nurses politely asked her to wait outside while they got him settled. At least she wouldn't be there to watch. He had a few minutes to prepare for the onslaught.

Any thoughts that they'd help evaporated the moment she opened her mouth.

"Oh, Eliot," she began, stepping into his line of sight with a sad look on her face. "Poor thing."

If he smiled strongly enough, he could probably throw her off the scent.

It didn't seem to work, though. Her smile only grew more watery, and she began rambling,

"You had us worried sick, you know. It was a mess. No one was sleeping right, and it seemed like everything was going to fall apart." She sniffed. "But you're here now, and you're going to get better."

"That's right, ma'am." It hurt to cough, but it beat the alternative. He couldn't spare the breath to tell her that really, he wasn't up to meeting her expectations.

\---

After lunch, Alec went to Nate's room to retrieve the guard's wallet, before heading back down the hall to his room.

He wasn't even surprised to see Parker standing in the middle of it when he arrived.

"Hey. What's up, girl?"

"Nothing. I just woke up, and wanted to see what was happening."

"Ah. The footage was a bust. Just about to get started tracing Geffin's accounts."

"Cool," Parker nodded, distracted, looking at his computer. "Find anything yet?"

"No. Should have more info in a few hours.  Right now, I got nothing but two handfuls of nothing." He thought that was the end of it, that Parker would leave.

But she was never that great at following cues. She didn't move an inch. Didn't seem to know where to go. Instead she shot distressed and wary glances at Alec out of the corner of her eye. He didn't have the time to parse their meaning. Every moment he waited, more information was falling into cracks somewhere. Her body language, though. That, Alec understood.

"Yo, Parker. You want to hang out, put the TV on while I work or something?"

Parker nodded, and paused like she was about to say something, but instead, she sat down on the chair at the other side of the too-small table. "If it's okay, I'd rather just watch you. Work." _I don't want to be alone right now._

\---

Eliot woke to muffled music and the clicking of keys, and opened his eyes to find Hardison lounging on the chair, legs thrown over the armrest, nodding his head under his earphones.

Intent on the screen, he was playing that stupid game of his, or maybe crashing the stock exchange. Apart from the surroundings, he looked as content as he always did.

Scratch that. He didn't always look so relaxed. Not when he was on his knees on a basement floor, checking for injuries, or when scrambling across the parking lot trying to get them to safety. Now, though, there didn't seem to be any stress creasing his face.

Didn't mean it wasn't weird, being in the same room as him.

He was just getting around to thinking about saying something, talking himself into attracting his attention, when Hardison happened to glance over. Springing into motion, he scrambled to get his headphones off while sitting up, nearly knocking his computer over in the process, but he didn't stand.

"Eliot. Yo, hey man. How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Eliot lied, suddenly feeling buried under the weight of Hardison's assessment. "Considering," he amended.

Hardison nodded awkwardly. "That's cool, man. Uh. I'm just working on tracking the people that did. All this. You feelin' up to telling me what you know?"

"Don't know much of anything." It wasn't an entire lie, he just didn't know where to start. Eliot glanced at the wall, wishing that the windows weren't frosted over, wanting to be able to see outside. "Head's still…"

"Right, right. I'll give you some time. Sorry. You need anything?" he trailed off, awkwardly, his eyes retreating back to the screen for a scant second, like he was itching to get back to work.

Eliot considered the offer, wishing he had the energy to sit up and take stock, but the painkillers they'd given him were starting, probably a bit too well. He barely noticed the catheter that was stuck to him, and realized glumly that there was probably a good chance that Hardison already knew it was there. "Nah," he decided. "I'm good."

"Cool." Hardison settled back in his chair for a minute, resettling his laptop, but something stopped him in his movement. "You. Ah. If you want, I can go move out into the hall. Y'know, if the noise," he nodded down to his computer, "is bugging you. Ain't tryin' to bother you, so let me know, and I'll jet."

I could leave you alone in here.

If he looked uncomfortable, it was easily passed off as reacting to the canulla irritating his nose as he shook his head. The noise hadn't bothered him that much, not really. Hardison hadn't, either, when he hadn't been looking. Eliot's eyes were getting heavy again. "Nah. Think I'm gonna pass out again."

"You do that," Hardison snorted, laughing quietly.

Eliot hadn't heard that sound in weeks. It was relaxing.

Eliot drifted off to the sound of typing, and a few minutes later, he could almost hear Hardison's music. He kind of hoped it would still be there when he woke up.  



	10. Chapter 10

Another day or so, and Eliot seemed to be on the mend.

\---

Hardison wasn't surprised to see Nate calling so soon from the hospital.

"He chased you out, too, yeah?"

"Think he's feeling better. He even chased _Sophie_ out. Said we were interrupting his reading."

"He get glasses already?"

"What? Ah, I don't- Sophie, hang _on_ ," Nate broke off, muttering sharply. Apparently he'd decided to call in the middle of an argument. "Never mind. Anyhow, the doctors said that as long as there's no surprises, he'll probably be released tomorrow."

"Awesome. Want me to book the flight?"

"Actually, ah. The doctors don't want him flying just yet."

"But it's, what. Five hours by car?"

"Closer to six, actually, and we'll be taking breaks. So, longer, and if it gets to be too much we'll grab a hotel, finish the drive the next day. That work?"

"Fine by me."

"Great. Let Parker know, if you can find her. We're going to stop in at the car rental and trade in for something larger, but we'll be heading to the hotel when that's done."

"Right. I'll start tearing down," Alec lied, hanging up the phone and turning to regard the convoluted mess of conflicting information that should have been a simple lease agreement.

The property had traded hands, been rented out under the table, shuttered, foreclosed on and bought so many times in the past five years that he didn't have much hope of figuring it out in the next few hours, and the clock was ticking.

 _You're not actually hearing that_ , he reminded himself for the third time in an hour.

He'd never get anywhere with if he didn't get back _to_ it, though. But first, he dialed Parker, resuming his post in the uncomfortable desk chair and ignoring the surge of homesickness that crept up out of nowhere. Stared at the ugly fucking artwork while he waited for an answer.

There was distortion on the line, a rush of wind, when Parker answered. "Yeah?"

"Hey, girl," he smiled when he talked. It was one of those thing's he'd learned in the four hours he'd worked telemarketing, way back when. _They can hear it when you smile_. "What's up?"

"Nothing, why?" There was a crash in the background, and Alec wondered if it was structural, expensive, or both.

"Whatever it is, wrap it up. We're heading back to Boston tomorrow."

"Cool." Again, there was wind, and a clanging noise in the background.

"Seriously, Parker, what are you doing?" Her answer was an indistinct grunt. He rolled his eyes and twisted in his seat, flicking the curtain aside to scan the skyline. "You're hanging off some skyscraper somewhere, aren't you?"

She hesitated, the way she usually did when she wasn't sure if she should tell the truth. "No. I'm under the 279 bridge. It might need some work, but I can't get close enough o see the bolts under here. You think I should send someone a note?"

"Yeah. When you get back. Why don't-"

"He yelled at me, you know. When I went to visit. It was-" Parker sighed, or maybe it was the wind. "He said he was sick of me looking at him."

"Eliot? Yeah. He's been yelling at everyone all day. Probably just going a little insane, you know? But he's getting released tomorrow, we're heading home."

"That's good," she replied, and her voice a sounded little bit more bright. Alec was pretty sure of it. "That's really good."

\---

They'd cleared out of the hotel an hour earlier than planned, each of them more ready to get going than the last, which only meant they'd earned themselves an extra hour of waiting at the hospital while the doctors finished checking Eliot over.

Finally, though, it was time, and Eliot was stepping through the door, nodding in their direction before following the nurse to the counter to sign the paperwork. Even with his arm in a sling, which was doing double duty holding an ice pack in place, he looked a lot better. The street clothes and the shave he'd finally been allowed probably helped. He didn't look like he was at a hundred percent, but he was definitely more alive than dead.

And he looked like he knew it. By the time he'd crossed the lobby floor, he was smiling wide enough that no one commented on the small white pharmacy bag he held in his hand.

"Ready to go home?" Nate asked, not wanting to make a big deal of it, as he began to lead them towards the exit.

"You have _no_ freakin' idea," he answered, even letting Alec hold the door open for him, passing by with a nod.

\---

One stop for coffees of varying complexity, and they were on the road. Sophie took the first shift driving, and Eliot dozed in the front seat, half listening to everyone talk in fits and starts.

Growing up, the family vacations had generally meant squabbling with his sister in the back seat out of boredom, pretending not to know his folks were doing their Not Fighting in Front of the Kids routine up front. Some bad patch, he'd figure out years later, long after they'd pulled through it. He'd never asked about it. At the time, though, it was all truck stops with casino games and bad food, and every historical marker and rock formation from Oklahoma to California. Hours of boredom and Springsteen on the radio when he was lucky. Most of the time, he wasn't.

This wasn't shaping up to be a trip like that. The others were talking, but he was having a hard time tracking it. The doctors hadn't been thrilled with his plan to sit in a car for two hours, probably wouldn't have let him go at all if he hadn't lied.

Using his good arm, he pushed himself up in his seat, mindful of his posture. Just because he couldn't feel any pain, as slow and dosed as he was, it didn't mean he couldn't screw things up worse, and his chest was starting to ache just a little, anyway.

Didn't matter. He was finally heading home. Only a few more hours, stuck in here with everyone talking carefully around him, Not Worrying in Front of the Injured, and he'd be home.

\---

"…and right then, just as the Premier was standing to make his toast, the _fire_ alarms went off, and the sprinklers came on. Everyone was drenched, sitting in all their finery, and half of them still had their glasses raised. Well, you know, the ways these things go, the Premier went ahead and toasted the hero of the hour, who, of course, rose to bow, but he slipped, bringing most of the tablecloth with him. In all the commotion that followed, the prince made his escape, and was on a boat back to the mainland within minutes. All Ihad to show for it was a ruined dress. Oh, and the pot bellied pig."

\---

"No. I _know_ I did a good job with the license, but it's not actually _valid_. It's. Fake. Not letting you drive, Parker. _No_ way. Nuh-uh."

\---

"No, see. This guy? He stuck out worse than Hardison in Amish country. He'd dyed his hair, even his moustache, but he hadn't touched it up in a month or so. He knew enough of the language to get by, but not enough to catch on to the fact that the locals had been calling him Goldilocks for months. Heh. He was so convinced he had us fooled, even came right up to me in the marketplace and tried to sell me some watches. Cocky bastard was still trying to play the _I don't speak English_ card all the way back to Miami. We had to get a translator in because he wouldn't break character, and this poor woman had to sit there with a straight face and try to pick apart broken Portuguese, spoken with a Swedish accent…"

\---

"Eliot, are you certain you're okay? There's room to lean the seat back if it would be more comfortable."

Nate glanced over, caught Sophie's worried expression in the rearview. "He's asleep. Relax."

\---

"Pull over, Hardison," Nate said, quietly, nodding his head in Eliot's direction before pulling away again, into the back seat. Alec half expected to hear yet another disagreement, but got none. Glancing over as he steered into the right lane, Alec could see that Eliot's eyes were wrenched shut and he was bracing himself against the back of the seat. He'd probably been in agony for miles.

The distance they covered between stops was growing distinctly shorter, and the breaks each time were growing longer.

Alec stretched, staying with the SUV as he watched them pair off, heading towards the visitor's center. Parker and Sophie were moving slowly, stretching stiffness from their bones as they walked, but they had already disappeared into the ladies' room by the time Nate managed to usher Eliot halfway up the sidewalk. It didn't look easy. When Eliot wasn't moving at a snail's pace, he was trying to edge away from Nate.

Alec rolled his shoulders and watched some kids playing with a puppy over by the picnic tables, as he re-estimated their arrival time for the seventh or eighth time since they'd hit the road.

He just wanted to get his ass home. Seriously, it had been a long week, and all he wanted was to get cleaned up in his own damned shower, park his ass in front of the TV for an hour or three, and not think anymore. He knew, in his head, that they were getting closer with every mile, but they were already an hour behind schedule, and had another hundred and twenty miles or so before they'd hit the Boston crawl.

Shaking his head, knowing damned well he was probably the first one to give up, he pulled out his phone, and started to look for nearby hotels.

He had five within twenty miles by the time the others returned. None of them were impressed, and definitely not Eliot, who of course was _fine_ and dead on his feet and _stupid_ and _stubborn_.

Nate had Alec's back, though, turning it into an ultimatum. Eliot would take his damned painkillers, or they'd stop at the next hotel. It worked. He ignored the pills that Sophie offered, but he did take the bottle, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. Screwing the cap back on, he glared at each of them in turn, betrayed maybe, or just daring them to say something.

It was Sophie's turn to drive again, and no one said anything more for sixty miles.

\---

He was too tired to sit up anymore, to hold himself in place, so avoiding the massive sharp scraping in his chest, radiating down into his back and up into his shoulder, wasn't working so well.

The painkillers were wearing off already, and he was starting to think that maybe he should have given it another day before checking himself out. He didn't look up, didn't even open his eyes, really. He knew damned well that he'd find somebody watching.

 _You're a fucking idiot_ , he would have told himself, but he could barely breathe, let alone speak.

At some point, he became distantly aware that they were no longer moving, but whether or not it happened before or after Sophie was opening his door, he wasn't sure. She leaned down close to him, her voice carefully soothing.

"We're going to try putting the seat back, okay? Get you laying down until we get to the hospital." He felt the catch give, and the backrest was slipping away, but there were hands on him, he didn't know whose, and he wanted them gone, but they were careful around his shoulders, only easing him back down.

It wasn't perfect, it still hurt, but he could breathe. Pretended to pass out so he wouldn't have to take more drugs that didn't work right anyhow.

\---

He wasn't even surprised to wake up in the hospital. _Fucking stupid._

Seriously. He'd even _known_ checking out was probably a bad idea. Wasn't like he'd been laboring under the impression he was _invincible_ \- he'd had to give that up years ago, and it had kept him alive longer than most. He didn't bullshit himself, and he paid attention.

Until now, apparently. _Been slipping._

He didn't even have to turn his head to know where the call button was, but the last thing he wanted, right then, was to deal with anyone else.

Even if dealing with himself wasn't much better.

Maybe he'd gotten too dependant on the others, or, hell. Maybe it was just the opposite, because all he'd wanted- for what seemed like fucking ever, now, ever since the flight down to Kansas- was to go home. Find some fucking peace, some space. Get away from everyone's stifling concern.

Get the hell away from what they knew about him. And hell, back before Kansas, it was only Hardison he'd had to worry about, and. Shit.

This time, it was only one vaguely-familiar looking doctor. Same one from when he'd arrived. Name was Morris or something, and he was fairly bemused at the state of him, but checked his eyes one more time. Listened to him breathe, and asked him if he was feeling better.

"Yeah. Just think I overdid it."

"You think? Well. You should get some rest. Where do you live?"

"Out on Hough's Neck. Any chance of me seeing my house any time soon?"

Dr. Morris looked at his watch, seemed to think about it. "I'm guessing one of the four cranky people out in the hallway would be willing to drive you?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want you doing anything but lying flat on your back, which I'm guessing is what the _last_ doctor told you, for the next few days."

"Sure thing."

"I'm also guessing that's what you said this morning. But, okay. You've had a bad day. It's just past four, now. Rush hour's in full swing. Visiting hours end at eight. If you rest until then, you can go home with your friends. Deal?"

"Fine."

Dr. Morris nodded once, checked his pager, nodded a second time, and left Eliot alone with his thoughts once again.

He knew how the team worked. He could guess the approaches they would have considered, before coming for him. They would've gathered around the table, staring up at as Hardison showed them the footage he would have probably found. Watching him curled on the floor, crawling on knees scabbed stiff to piss in a bucket, naked and pathetic.

God, _Sophie_ would have seen it.

If that weren't bad enough, they would have done research, too. Finding the back-story to go forward. Talking about him. What they knew. Maybe everything Hardison knew. It was the same thing they did for every other case, every victim and villain.

It was his entire life, up on display for scrutiny and discussion. Job's he'd worked, things he'd done. People he knew. Maybe even his family. His sister.

They all knew. They all knew more than he _himself_ did. They had to, they weren't stupid, none of them. He was known, now, scraped open a hell of a lot more than he was ever supposed to be.

The sooner he got home, the sooner he could shut them, and their attention, out. Find some peace for a while, a little bit of privacy. Even if home was a little less secure than it was a month ago.

 _Don't be an idiot. It's fine. It'll be fine.  
_  
He stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to believe it, but the door opened before he got there. It was the nurse, ducking her head in to ask him something.

"Yeah," he said, not paying attention until it was too late and Parker was following Hardison into his room. Both looked tired, and neither spoke. Parker wouldn't even make eye contact.

"Where're the others?"

"Nate got voted off the island on account of crankiness," Hardison explained. "Sophie sent him home. She's down in the cafeteria right now, but she's going to hang out here until you're released."

Eliot shook his head in annoyance. "Seriously? All I'm hearin' these days." He rolled his eyes, playing it up for Parker's benefit, who was looking scared. It seemed to help. "Y'all should just go home. I'm fine."

"Actually, they've got work to do," Sophie slid into the room, coffee in her hand. "Over at your house." She'd cleaned up a little, looked much better than she had in days, like she'd just come from some pleasant vacation somewhere. Parker must've seen it too, if the speculation on her face was anything to go by.

"My place? What for?"

Sophie looked askance at Hardison, and he pulled a face, telling her she'd jumped the gun, before answering. "Gonna clean the place up. Dump the rotten milk. You know."

"Make sure no one's lying in wait behind the couch," Parker finished in a monotone. Hardison was too tired to even try masking his annoyance, which she caught, but didn't understand.

" _What_?"

\---

It was nice to come home to find the lights on, not that he'd say so. He waved back to Sophie and pretended not to notice that she waited until he was inside to pull away from the curb.

Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and it was totally mindless, but for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

 _Of course it's open. Chill._

He was stepping through the door and looking at his _own_ stairs, his _own_ living room, over on the left, and beyond it, his _own_ kitchen, where Hardison must've heard him.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah," he said, shutting the door behind him and throwing the bolt. When he turned around again, Hardison had appeared, a pad of paper in his hand.

"Yo man, welcome home," he said, his grin widening into a yawn. "Sorry. Ah. We got everything sorted, but you're going to need groceries, I already started a list of the stuff that we had to throw out."

"Yeah, okay." Eliot nodded, not really knowing what else to do. "Where's Parker?"

"Uh, she took off. She was tired," Hardison explained, clearly covering for her.

"She still pissed at me?"

"Nah, man. She's just tired." Hardison scratched at his face. "Well. She might still be a little freaked. She'll be fine."

"Okay."

Thankfully, Hardison was already moving on. "So. We took out the trash and dealt with the rotten milk. Did the dishes and stuff. Turned the heat on, too."

"And looked around for bad guys."

"That too." Hardison looked abashed, but then he grinned. "Didn't find any, by the way."

Eliot let himself laugh, just a bit. "Didn't think you would."

"Yeah. Well. For future reference, a security system might be a worthwhile investment. Or changing the locks or something."

Eliot didn't want to get into it right now. He was too tired, and Hardison looked dead on his feet.

But he also looked determined, a little bit awkward and reluctant. "Look, man. We're going to have to talk about what happened. Not now, but, like. _Real_ soon."

"Right."

"You okay with me coming 'round tomorrow? I can stop for groceries on the way, if you want."

"Okay."

"Right. Cool," Hardison fought another yawn. "I'll just clear out, get out of your hair in a second, here. I'll call before I come over tomorrow. That work?"

"Yeah," Eliot decided, not entirely sure why he continued with, "You could. You know. Crash on the couch if you want."

"Thanks, man, but I'm missing my bed almost as much as you've got to be. So. You need anything else?" He eyed Eliot's shoulder with apprehension.

"Nah, I'm good. Uh. Thanks. For everything."

"Don't mention it." Hardison grabbed his shoulder bag from the counter, and started making his way from the kitchen, stopping next to Eliot in the living room, his arm hanging a little loose from his body, like he might reach out, touch Eliot.

Eliot braced himself for contact, told himself he didn't want it when it never came.

Hardison scanned his face quickly, but didn't force eye contact. "Hey. Case I didn't say it? Glad you're back."

"Me too. Thanks."

\---

Finally, Eliot was alone. The eyes were finally off him. He could relax.

He would, in a minute. Once he'd had a minute to warm up, to let it all set in. But the house was so damned _cold_.

There had to be a window open, somewhere in the house, letting the air in.

Starting in the basement and working his way up, he walked form room to room, slowly, spine straight and breathing shallow, growing more certain of the presence of the draft.

He knew Hardison and Parker had already gone through. _It's fine._ They'd turned the fucking heat on. _Everything is fine_. It wasn't as if he didn't know he was being paranoid.

But he checked the windows again, anyway, and felt around the seal of the doors, finding no air leaking through. Looking out the kitchen window at the shed, he realized that, at some point soon, he'd have to go check out the shed as well.

But the temperature outside was dropping, and he was being stupid. It was a shed. Ain't like he was sleeping out there. He could leave it.

 _It's fine._

He weaved a little too much in the hallway as he turned, enough that he had to wonder if he was already falling asleep. Dead on his feet. He stopped, though, at the thermostat.

He had to squint to be sure, but even then, he was surprised to find that it read 72 degrees.

 _Probably busted. Deal with it later._

The stairs were slower going than he wanted, and he had to open his mouth to breathe well before reaching the top and turning right into the bathroom, where he began the half-assed process of getting ready for bed. The sling, when it came off, felt like it was going to take the arm with it, as the weight redistributed itself, sending a whole new ache up through his shoulder and neck, and down into his chest.

He was startled by the reflection presented back to him. His skin was grayed out, except for the bruises under his right eye. It would have stood out more if exhaustion hadn't so heavily shaded the left.

He didn't even want to contemplate his chest and back yet. Hadn't even been clothed properly for an entire day yet, and it seemed a shame to waste the feeling of cotton on his skin. The wool in his mouth, though, had to fucking go, even if it meant a few moments of oxygen deprivation to get the job done.

 _Fuck_ , it was the first time he was using his own toothbrush in weeks.

The jeans were a total fucking hassle to handle one-handed, but once they were off, he realized there was warm air washing over his shin. The vent, under the towel rack, was working.

It was the best thing he'd felt in days, but he didn't go so far as to take his socks off. Or his shirts. The heinous process of dealing with those could wait until morning. And he couldn't stop shivering, anyway.

 _Overtired. Body can't self regulate the way it should. That's all._

\---

He'd missed his bed, but hadn't truly realized how _much_ until he was sliding under the sheets. It hadn't been the most extravagant thing he'd ever spent money on, but it was too big for him to move on his own.

He'd had to have it delivered, and it had taken three guys to haul it up the stairs. It would be near impossible to move again. Permanent. And it hadn't felt like a trap, the way he'd thought it might. Felt a little bit like home, even that first night.

He'd thought he'd be dropping solidly into sleep straight away, but he lay awake for a long time. Couldn't relax. He was still too wound up, and his surveying expedition hadn't helped the pain any.

But something was off. Maybe he'd gotten used to the hospital rooms, and their multiple beds and space for equipment, but the bedroom seemed cramped by comparison. And still too cold.

He was halfway out of bed, feeling the chill of the air and the floor beneath his feet, before realizing he'd moved. Stood there for a minute, waiting for the spasm in his back to fade and looking around. He went over to the bedroom door and threw it open, finding nothing but moonlight filtering through the windows, and stairs leading down towards the locked front door.

 _You're losing it. Get some sleep._

If he didn't suspect he'd crack his skull in the shower, the heat of the water would have been great. As it was, he'd have to get back under the blankets again if he planned to warm up any time this century.

Leaving the door open this time, in hopes that it wouldn't block any warm air from finding his bedroom, he staggered back to the bed, where he settled himself in, grasping at his arm to put it carefully in place.

Two breaths, maybe three, and then he slept.

\---

The alarm, when it went off, came hours too early, Alec was certain of it. He slapped blindly at buttons in an attempt to make the noise stop, but only succeeded in turning the radio on, crisp and biting and entirely too loud.

Rolling himself out of bed in surrender, he staggered towards the bathroom, dropping his clothes to the floor as he waited for the shower to heat up.

The chilled air was nearly painful as he waited, naked, eyes more closed than open, but he was only aware of the weight of his limbs, gravity wanting to pull him down, back into sleep.

One hand braced against the tile for balance, he ducked into the spray and just stood, for a minute, listening to the insistent beat coming from the radio in the bedroom, steady and hypnotic and unchanging. Snare drums marching on, clicking at the edge of his awareness and worming into his head like clockwork.

Nodding absently to the beat he wasn't really hearing anymore, he reached for the soap and set upon the business of washing yesterday off. He didn't think, didn't make plans. He'd deal with today once he had some jeans on.

He turned the television on, finding the local news station and leaving it there. If aliens had invaded Boston any time in the past few days, he wanted to hear about it over fruit loops.

Or would have, if the milk had passed the sniff test. Trying not to breathe as he rinsed it down the drain, he wanted to cry. He had to go grocery shopping.

He'd told Eliot he'd run by there, anyway. What had seemed like no big deal the night before was stretching out before him like a never-ending gauntlet. Completely insurmountable. And he had work to do, here, besides.

 _You stay here, you'll just end up working in circles. You go over there, you might get some answers. And you promised, man._

Shoving a handful of dry cereal into his mouth, he went back to the entryway and retrieved the laptop case from the pile of bags he'd left by the door, but hesitated at the idea of going through. He'd only just gotten home. Didn't want to leave yet.

Dawdling, he meandered back towards the bathroom, he managed not to get any shaving cream on his shirt, so it was probably going to be a good day. Leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste, he became dimly aware that he was still nodding his head to the music.

He really needed to find a better radio station. Or maybe he should just turn the damned thing off. It wasn't until he was back in the bedroom that he heard a woman's voice finishing the traffic report, sending it over to Mark Margarit for the weather.

The music, or really, just the beat of what he'd half-heard, was a brain worm, too slow to dance to, ticking away insistently.

Locking up behind him, and heading down to the garage, he slung the computer case onto the front seat next to him. Dialed up Outkast and turned it up loud. Tried to keep up and tripped over the words, not catching up until the chorus, singing _bombs over Baghdad_ as he turned left at the end of the block.

\---

Alec had a cart, and he had his list, and he was only just realizing how useless both of them were. Milk, he could handle, but meat and vegetables were, in retrospect, a little vague, and whatever he'd scribbled beneath was completely illegible. _Gotta learn to take better notes. Should have hacked his credit itemizations._

He could manage it on his phone, but it was a hassle. It would be easier from the laptop, but that was all the way back in the car.

He checked the time. It was just past nine. Hoping he wasn't about to wake her, he dialed Sophie.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hardison? Good morning."

"Sophie, hey. Didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I've just put the kettle on. What's going on?"

"Ah. Minor crisis here. What does Eliot actually eat?"

"What, are you ordering takeout?"

"I'm at the store. Had to throw out a lot of stuff last night."

"That's so _sweet_ of you!" Alec rolled his eyes and waited. "Okay. I know he does a lot of fresh fruit and veg, probably organic. But hang on. How's he going to cook with a dislocated shoulder?"

It was a good question, one that he would have missed. Eliot was one of the more animated chefs he'd seen, and chopping much of anything while throwing pans and plates around was going to be a pain in the ass for him.

To top it off, one of his kidneys had gotten messed up, though presumably the other one was taking care of things. Didn't mean the doctors hadn't ordered a restricted diet.

"Aw hell. Right. That's something to keep in mind, then. Thanks, Sophie."

"No problem. You're going over there already?"

He shoved his cart roughly to the side to allow a harried woman and her three kids swarm past towards the oranges. "Yeah, right when I finish up here."

"Give us a call, would you, when you've left? I don't want to barrage him with visitors, if he's sick of us, but…"

"Right. I'll see how he's doin' and get back to you. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, it's because I'm lost in the freezer aisle."

"I don't see how that would happen, there are _really_ only two directions you could go."

After hanging up, he surveyed the produce section, he thought to himself, _focus. One-armed hippie food_. The organic section was, thankfully, advertised loudly, back towards the deli.

Apples and bananas and a few kinds of lettuce, two onions. Tomatoes, he wasn't sure about, but he grabbed one anyway. Green beans and red potatoes. Carrots and corn and sprouts. Peppers in various shapes and sizes, and he was on a roll. Tofu, too, because maybe he was the type. Bread was easy, though, and he didn't stumble until he hit the meat section. Chicken, ground beef, and pork, and some steaks. He wasn't going to mess with fish just now. This was supposed to be a milk and eggs run, anyway.

He got stuck in the kitchen supply aisle, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but finding it anyway. He'd seen it on TV, a chopper thing that worked one-handed. It was the sort of thing he'd buy if he ever found the need to make food smaller.

That didn't mean it would actually work, though.

Just in case, he stopped in the freezer section. They made frozen dinners for hippies, too, after all. After that it was milk and eggs and cheese, and a swing through to grab some orange soda, which he set into the cart next to the oranges and peppers. Camouflage.

\---

Eliot had woken up, not ten minutes ago, to Hardison's far too fucking awake voice on the other end of the line, announcing his imminent arrival.

Most of the time since had been spent crawling out of bed and throwing sweats on, and another pair of socks. A third shirt, because damn, he needed to do something about the insulation in this place. Ripping out walls to install more seemed easier than getting his damn arm though the sleeve, and it fucking _hurt_.

The sling settled right the first time he tried, though, so maybe things were looking up.

He'd just taken his pills, and put the coffee on, when Hardison exploded through the door, laden with bags and setting them on the counter. And then he left.

Just like that.

Only to come back with _more_ a moment later, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder.

He caught Eliot's blearily raised eyebrows. "Didn't know what you wanted. So. I _may_ have gone a little overboard."

"You think? But. Thanks, you didn't have to, what do I owe you?"

Alec gave him a patronizing look and waved it off. "Shit, this is probably the least ridiculous stuff I've bought in weeks. Where's it all go?"

"I can-"

"You can just sit right _there_ and drink your coffee. Are you supposed to be drinking coffee? Never mind. Potatoes in the fridge?" Eliot blinked. There was no way Hardison was serious.

Then again.

"Basket on top."

"Right."

Eliot watched the invasion of his kitchen, trying not to jump in and do it _properly_. More greens than he'd be able to go through in a week, and he didn't even want to know what he'd picked up by way of meat, it was probably as random as everything else. Hardison seemed to be managing, though, even if he _did_ shove half a dozen TV dinners into the fridge. Hardison didn't come up for air until he was came to a plastic container. _Tofu_?

"In the fridge," Eliot confirmed, boggled, trying to think of the last time he'd made it. Throw a marinade together, blackened, maybe. Or hell. Stir fry. There was this great Vietnamese dish he'd picked up…

Hardison was looking at him now, amused at something. "Hey, man. Earth to Eliot."

"What?" Eliot rolled his neck. "Hey."

"How's the shoulder?"

"Awesome."

"Picked up this thing," he said, holding a box up for inspection. "Sophie figured you might not be up to chopping things for a bit, and Billy Mays seemed really excited about it."

"Who?" Eliot reached out and examined it. Seemed like it might work, even if it looked like cheating. Didn't matter. It was just temporary. Besides. He hadn't even gotten around to thinking about cooking, yet. Hell, he hadn't even _showered_ yet. And so far, the other's had already had a freakin' powwow on the topic.

Hardison was looking at him like he had information that needed to be extracted, and he was just figuring out his approach, and whatever it was, Eliot knew he didn't want to hear it.

Standing up, Eliot made his way to the fridge, waving him out of the way. "You eat yet?"

"Had some breakfast."

"Handful of fruit loops?"

"What? No. Yeah."

"Omelet?"

"Sure. Want some help?"

"No. Sit your ass down and get out of the way." Hardison hesitated before edging away, too slowly for Eliot's liking. He knew what this was about. "Seriously. I got this. You keep hovering, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Right. Never mind two hospitals in the last day and a half, you're like a Dalek right now, old school. You get all _exterminate_ on me and I'll just head for the stairs."

Eliot pretended not to get the reference. It wasn't like his folks raised him in a cave, after all. "Do you know how to make an omelet?"

"I'm sure I can work it out." Hardison eyed the carton of eggs speculatively.

"Well, I'm not aiming for hospital stay number three, so _move_." He rinsed the dubious chopper in the sink and got to work.

Hardison grinned, but he slid around and pulled up a stool, sliding his jacket and sweatshirt off like the cold didn't bother him in the least.

He didn't interfere, but Eliot could feel him watching, the entire time. Told himself it was normal, not at all weird. It was what any of them always did when he else was cooking over at Nate's place, after all, and hell. He'd done it himself, growing up. It was normal.

It just didn't feel that way. He kind of wanted him to stop, but he didn't want to talk about it.

\---

Alec thought through fifty more things he could try with the warehouse records, rejecting each in turn as he ate. Even so, he finished long before Eliot was done picking at his plate.

Billy Mays knew his shit, but if omelets tired Eliot out as much as it looked like they did, then he'd been totally right on the frozen dinners. But he didn't rub it in.

He did, however, draw the line at letting Eliot do the dishes.

"I got this. You should. I don't know. Go back to bed or something."

"Not tired." It didn't look like he was lying, but he didn't seem to be up for much, either. "Should go grab a shower, though."

"You do that."

Eliot had already gone upstairs before Alec realized that he didn't know if he was supposed to stay, or leave. He was done with the dishes by the time he heard the shower come on, and realized that right now, at this particular house, at this moment in time, Eliot was upstairs, naked.

It wasn't a thought that went anywhere, though. Just a realization. Distracting enough that he didn't even notice what he was doing until he was already camped out at one end of Eliot's couch, turning on his laptop.

 _He wants you gone, he'll tell you._

\---

It was a long time before the shower came off, and even longer before he heard him at the top of the stairs.

"Hardison?"

"Yeah man. In the living room." _Wanted to make sure you didn't slip in the shower, but you're cool, so I can go. Unless you actually want to tell me what the hell this entire month has been about._

A few minutes later, and Eliot was leaning against the doorframe, but not yet committed to actually entering. He was wearing a different sweatshirt, no, just an _additional_ one, and his hair was wet underneath a knit cap pulled low, shadowing his eyes. He looked ridiculous, but also a little like he was freezing. "What're you doin'?"

"Trying to work through the warehouse paper trail. Not having much luck, so…" Alec grimaced, suddenly not wanting to force it. He could practically hear Sophie insisting that Eliot needed to rest, not to be bothered with this stuff. Nate, though, would have let Eliot decide. "If you got anything, you know. Might help."

Eliot closed his eyes for a minute, and Alec was certain he was opening his mouth to kick him out, to tell him that they'd deal with this when he was feeling better, and he wouldn't blame him, but- "What do you got so far?"

Alec wasn't expecting that. _Okay, so we're going to do this._

He also hadn't thought he'd be the one to have to start. He took a few seconds to get it straight in his head before he began.

"Right. So. The records for the building are a mess. No idea who actually owns it, and for all I know, they could have been squatting. So I'm nowhere on that. As far as the rest of it goes?" He shrugged, but Eliot didn't seem to have any answers. He barely had the energy to be hearing it.

Alec turned slightly on the couch, balancing his computer on his thigh, and resumed, determined. "A'ight, check it. Quick version. You never showed in Kansas, weren't answering your phone, and you weren't using your cards anywhere. We started checking it out, but couldn't find anything hinky going on. We rushed the job, saved the Bradshaw ranch, by the way, and got our asses back to town. Came here and looked around, which you already know. Realized that I hadn't included Dayan in my search, so…"

"Wait. _What_?"

Alec looked up, sharply, to find Eliot scowling in angry confusion.

"Mikel Dayan, she-" And then realization hit. " _Oh_."

 _He didn't know. Until now._

He scrambled to find words, something to rush them past this, to bring him back around, but Eliot's expression shifted, then.

He looked like he'd been crossed by someone he hadn't expected it from. Alec's brain ground to a halt and switched tracks.

Thinking about it now, Alec had to admit that he hadn't anticipated it, either. He'd seen them at the bar that one night, all intense eyes over handcuffs. And judging by the expression Eliot wore now, the flirtation had led exactly where Alec had thought it would.

And then it had led to _here_ , and _now_ , and a sudden flash of insane jealousy that really had _nothing_ to do with anything.

He tried not to look at Eliot, didn't want to let on, but he wasn't seeing much of anything, standing in his own doorway like a visitor, blown and wild-eyed and totally fucking _betrayed_.

His voice, though, when he spoke, was a cold monotone. "How d'you know it was her?"

"I found the shirt you wore at the gallery."

"Huh?" Eliot pulled a face, trying to follow. "You remembered what _shirt_ I was wearin'?"

"Pink stands out on a man, what can I say?"

"Whatever," Eliot frowned. "So you tracked her?"

"All the way to the warehouse. The rest, you know."

"No, I don't. Not really."

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

Realizing how that had sounded, what it was that he was actually asking, Alec wished he could rewind, try that again. He leaned back in his chair, steeling himself for the explosion that was sure to come.

It didn't. Eliot's expression was blank, maybe a little shuttered, or maybe he really was fascinated by the blank expanse of wall across the room. The silence started to look permanent. The result of an error that Alec couldn't go back and recode.

He was about to try, anyway, when Eliot moved from the doorway, actually sitting down carefully on the other end of the couch. Glancing briefly at Alec, he rolled his head back to look up at the ceiling, resigned. "What do you want to know?"

"I _want_ to know what happened." _I don't even know where to start._ "Why did you bail on the Kansas job?"

Eliot sighed, the annoyance visible at the side of his mouth. "I didn't bail, I was gonna come back." He paused, and Alec was just about to prompt him, but he continued, admitting, "I needed some space."

"And got it in spades," Alec agreed, forcing himself not to confirm his suspicions as to why distance had been needed. He was pretty sure he already knew, and they _really_ didn't need to go there just then.

Eliot's relieved smirk was short lived, however. He tugged the cuff of his sleeve down over his knuckles, and began.

"I got home late and crashed out. Got up in the morning and went about my day. Um. Went out to the shed, but the light wasn't working, because the wiring had gotten corroded."

Eliot broke off, casting an abortive look in his direction. "It's funny, I was gonna give you a call when I was at the hardware store, ask you about the wiring." He nearly grinned, but didn't quite make it. "Got home, fixed it, no problem. Was going to start on the garden…wait." His forehead creased. Something wasn't adding up. "No, I went out on the porch and was going to read for a bit, but." The scowl deepened. He shook his head. "That's all."

"Until."

"Yeah."

"What happened next?" Alec saw the words leaving his mouth before he'd thought them, watched them register with Eliot. This time, however, the reaction was exactly what he'd been expecting.

"I hung out by the _pool_ and worked on my tan," he growled.

"Right, alright. Sorry," Alec only half meant it, too damned tired of this conversation already. "I just needed to know if you learned anything, cause-"

Eliot cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "No. I know." He knocked his head against the top of the couch, like he was trying to shake the tension loose. "Why not? Not like every last fucking detail of my _life's_ not an open book to you anyway."

Alec snorted. "Look, I know this ain't fun, but if we're going to figure this out, we need all the information we can get." Eliot still wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't looking that good at all, really.

But Alec was getting _damned_ tired of being the only one in their entire crew that was actually _trying to deal_. "Or, more accurately," he grumbled bitterly to himself, " _I'm_ going to need all the information _I_ can get."

Eliot's eyes were closed, but he didn't look like he'd passed out, or anything, and Alec wasn't about to reach over and check, so he turned back to his computer. Tried to think of some other approach to take, because talking? Talking never worked when you needed it to.

 

"What d'you mean, you?" It was so quiet, he wasn't sure he'd actually heard.

"Huh? Nothing. Don't worry about it."

" _Hardison_." Eliot was taking up too little space under his layers of clothes to back up the threat in his tone, but it came through nonetheless.

Didn't mean he knew how to answer, but Eliot could detect bullshit when he heard it. And he should probably know anyway.

He sighed. "Look. Ain't like the others aren't helping, but. The way this entire thing's been playin' out, it's pretty much been my skill set that's handling it. So. There's things that I haven't told them. Ain't tryin' to hold out on them, but." But seeing all of it? Could've broken them as well. _It wasn't just you I was trying to protect._

Not being privy to Alec's inner monologue, his tone was acidic, accusing. "What are you talking about?"

"The camera. Filming your lounge chair by the pool. They haven't seen most of it. Just parking lots and hallways, the door to your, ah. Room. Nothing inside."

Eliot's frown deepened, like he didn't want to be thinking whatever it was that he was thinking, and it was as good a time as any, Alec figured, to dig himself in deeper.

"I, um. Haven't told them about the other stuff, either. Before Kansas. If you were worried."

\---

 _The others didn't see the pathetic mess you became_. It was something, at least.

And Hardison had kept his mouth shut, about the rest of it. That was _definitely_ something, but it was a bit much to deal with now.

They'd all seen the fallout, a good portion of it, and he wasn't exactly clear on what they'd heard from the doctors, but they hadn't seen the worst of it. They hadn't seen him lying naked on the floor, waiting to die. Hadn't watched him cowering from the attackers. Hadn't watched him give up.

It was a nice thought, but it didn't make sense. Not with the way they'd been acting.

Nate, at the hospital, hadn't been able to deal. Parker had managed- she'd probably studied the other visitors to learn what normal people did, but she'd followed their lead pretty well. Sophie, so close to shattering herself, hadn't stopped treating him like glass, even on the ride home.

Hardison had given Eliot the same wide berth that he normally did, and it could have been denial, or it could have been confidence, but he'd rolled with it. Didn't look at him any different. Not pitying or patronizing, and he hadn't stared at him like he was a specimen under a microscope.

He'd been too busy staring at his screen, working. Figuring all this shit out.

He'd had his back more than anyone since his own folks, probably without noticing it, too busy trying to pull answers out of nothing.

And Eliot, so far, wasn't helping much on that front.

He thought of the photos, the best clue he'd had, this entire fucking time. And they hadn't meant a damned thing. It was bad enough not knowing, even if most of the time, he was okay dealing with the gray. Hardison, on the other hand? This had to be killing him.

Hardison was quiet, not even typing, and Eliot might as well have not been in the room. He was an accessory. Useless.

He'd been useless for a while now. Too long.

"I woke up in the cell, without my shirt or shoes. Nothing in my pockets," he began, telling it to the ceiling.

He knew it wasn't much, but if Hardison happened to overhear, maybe he'd find somewhere to start.

\---

 _"I understand that you want to call in the marker."_

"There are eyes on me. I want them gouged out. You do this for me, and your debt is forgiven. You get them to me in a box, and you'll be well compensated."


	11. Chapter 11

Eliot had been through enough psych evaluations in his time to know that talking it out was supposed to help. Reintegration, they'd called it.

Distance, _not actually being there_ , had more to do with soldiers coming home and not totally fucking cracking than sitting in an office and finding the words that would get them out of there soonest. The same shit was still out there, the same fighting and the same fuckups. But maybe that was just him. He wasn't one to spout off.

Hardison wasn't a base shrink, even if he cede the couch and move to the chair, telling Eliot to _lie the hell down, man, or Sophie's going to have both our asses_. He didn't ask a whole lot of invasive questions, didn't ask him how he felt about anything. He didn't spout off heavily-laden _un-hmms_ or _interestings_. Half the time, Eliot wasn't even sure he was listening, though he never slid his eyes from the ceiling to check.

He told him about the room, about how cold it was, and how dark. He was careful not to belabor the point, mentioning it only once, and that was enough. Hardison wasn't stupid, after all. Instead, he described the dimensions, the way the door was mounted, and his suspicion that the single window faced south.

Told him about the drugs, his best guesses as to what they'd been. If Hardison wanted to know how they felt, how the muffled everything and made the world seem small and huge all at once, he could look them up himself.

He didn't talk much about food or water, beyond pointing out that if it weren't for their lack he probably could have gotten out of there, even with the drugs. He didn't speak of the thirst, and never of the hunger.

The photos, though. Those, he could talk about.

"Woke up and they were in the room, someone had brought them in while I'd been passed out. Stared at them for hours, but nothing came to me. It was weird. No idea who the guy is, how he relates to anything. I know he probably does, but. I can't figure that one out." Hardison was focused on him now, he was sure of it.

"No idea?"

"I know for a fact that I didn't see him in Pakistan. Might have come across him before, but as to when that would have been?" He finally swiveled his head. "Your computer got anything yet?"

"Nothing yet," Hardison admitted, checking his phone, irritated. Realizing he was being watched, he explained. "Had to leave the analysis running on the main system back home. It'll ping me once it's gotten anything better than a 95 percent match. Been running ever since last night, could be another day or so."

"Why's it taking so long?"

"Global search, almost literally. There's a lot out there. I was hoping you'd be able to give me something to narrow it down."

"Yeah, well. Guess this wasn't so useful after all."

"Right." Hardison turned back to his computer. It felt like a deliberate move. "So you didn't learn anything from the guards?"

"Never really saw them." It was the truth. Incoming boots and an arm grappling at him out of nowhere didn't count, after all, and he didn't really need to get into it. So there was no useful reason for him to admit, "by the time they showed, I was messed up enough that I couldn't track them."

"Huh. Not to sound like, you know. A complete asshole or anything, but is there anything else that you _do_ remember?"

"No." Like he thought it would, his answer was met with silence.

It lasted a while.

Eventually, he heard a resigned sigh, and the sound of a laptop being closed. "Right. Sorry, man. If it's dragging anything up, but from what I'm seeing now…" He trailed off, trying to choose his words perfectly. "I thought this would get us somewhere." Hardison was giving up.

"Yeah, well. Things don't always work out like they do in the movies." His shoulder was starting to throb again, and he weighed the pain against the effort of going to the kitchen for another ice pack.

"No kidding."

Eliot swiveled his legs over the side of the couch first, let them carry the momentum that got him standing again, and watched Hardison shoving the computer into his bag, a little defeated and a lot pissed-off.

Like _he_ had cause to be taking this personally.

 _Whatever._

"So now what?"

"I'm gonna go home, take some aspirin. Hope that maybe something brilliant occurs to me while I'm going through the videos again." He checked his phone again, glancing up at Eliot, though his attention was already elsewhere. "You should crash out, though."

"Right. Cool," was all he said, distracted by the knowledge that if he'd come up with something more useful, Hardison wouldn't be going back to watch the footage again. It was stupid to think otherwise, but also more disappointing than Eliot would have expected.

It didn't help that Hardison had probably caught on, the way he wasn't cracking wise, or talking about it at all, directly. And it wasn't that he didn't appreciate it.

But it meant he didn't know what he saw, when he watched it, and didn't know what he saw when Hardison looked at him. If he still saw Eliot, or if he saw the person he'd become, there, in that room.

Watching through the window as Hardison walked down the driveway towards his car, Eliot felt insubstantial and in between. He wished he'd managed to get him to tell him who he thought Eliot was supposed to be, given him something to work with.

But for once, Hardison hadn't seemed to have all the answers, so he'd kept his mouth shut.

\---

 _All he knew was the chill of the cell, and then the explosion and death._

But he could hear voices.

Nate muttered into the air, apparently checking with Hardison for an update, while Parker strolled over the rubble.

Sophie called after her from the sidewalk, littered with debris, warning her to mind her footing. Surveying the chaos, her eyes followed the uniformed men picking their way across the wreckage of what had once been the Federal Building. Eliot was one of them, but she didn't notice.

She definitely didn't notice him watching from just behind and above her, seeing everything, all of it, missing no detail.

Until he blinked, and everything went dark, and he couldn't see anything at all. He could only feel. A massive sharp pressure on his chest, pain and cold fading away too quickly. The sensation of falling without movement

And there was sound. He could still hear them talking, everyone in the whole world, it seemed.

"Can you tell me what's happening?"

Sophie's question was answered by a woman's voice, vague and indistinct. "Search and rescue. It's not going so well. Sorry, I."

"I'm sure you're doing all you can," Sophie replied, sympathetically.

"I'd like to think so, but. It's hard. We're going to have to pull out soon. It's been days, now."

"Well, I'm sure you've gone all you can, Miss…?"

"Hardison. Sandra Hardison," she trailed off, and the voice was gone, buried under sirens in the distance, the ticking of the office clock that was mysteriously still working.

Another shower of grit and dust was falling nearby, and the stop-start scraping of concrete against concrete was growing louder, until it was all that was left to notice and Eliot was left trying to decide if this is what the end of the world was going to sound like.

He almost didn't notice the grinding cease.

But that wasn't right. It wasn't the sound that was pulling away and fading out, it was Eliot, falling away into the distance, back and up.

\---

It was that scraping sound that woke him.

Eliot peeled his eyes up towards the ceiling, trying to catch his breath as the grit and cold darkness sank down beneath the blankets somewhere.

He groaned. A moment or so ago, he was pretty sure he'd dreamt he was dying. Now he just wanted to. But he didn't have time to think about it now, not if he sounds from downstairs were anything to go by.

There. There it was, again. A kitchen chair scraping across the floor, and then nothing. He lay flat, unmoving, and concentrated, trying to figure out if someone was sitting down or standing up, what those two actions could mean.

It all amounted to the same thing. Someone was waiting for him. If they'd wanted him, they could have taken him already, while he slept. He'd left himself wide open for attack.

And while lying there wasn't doing much to change that, the pain wasn't letting him labor under any pleasant delusions of having anything by way of options that wasn't hidden at the back of the closet.

\---

 _Tyler was from Miami, a no-bullshit kind of guy, probably had been when he'd first gotten posted in Zagreb. By the time he and Eliot met, three or four years later, his sense of humor had been buried deep, but it wasn't dead._

Eliot wasn't the same guy who'd left home, either. He could relate, but Tyler was brutal. Efficient. Careful, even when he was kicking Eliot's ass at pool.

It made him a great guy to have on hand when things went to hell, right up until everything started going right. Too many wins, all in a row.

Clothes and women, cars and drugs. Living the life. Five-in-the-morning phone calls that made no sense at all, later recognized as the beginning of the end.

Less than a month later, Tyler was trying to drag Eliot down with him. It hadn't gone well, for either of them.

Eliot took Tyler's Desert Eagle with him when he left the other man in the back corner of the laundromat, slipping on blood and detergent as he ran for the door, looking for somewhere to ditch the gun.

And it was stupid, he knew it was a stupid thing to keep with him. A hell of a lot of risk, just to have a reminder to take with him.

\---

He hadn't fired it in years, not since that last shot sent Tyler down, and it would probably misfire if he tried, but it would be one hell of a distraction.

Besides. Reminders were only useful to the living. Didn't do the dead any good.

Trying for silence would only alert the visitors that he knew they were there, so he took no pains to muffle his steps.

Eliot wasn't going to creep through his own damned house jumping at shadows.

He quickly unwrapped the gun, sliding it into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and headed down the stairs, listening carefully for any sign of movement.

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard it, a kitchen chair being kicked back.

He wrapped his fingers around the grip, and got ready.

\---

Counting the ticks in his head, Alec knew that he hadn't been home for more than three minutes when the door buzzer went off. Looking out through the peephole, he wasn't even surprised to see Nate standing there.

He opened the door, and stepped back. "Yo, man. What's up?"

"It's not all of the parking lots, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there were cameras inside the building, and-"

"Hold up. I ain't been home ten minutes yet, and this can wait until I down something for my head." _Something to stop the noise._ "C'mon in."

Nate pulled a face, but followed him into the kitchen, but he was obviously impatient, and waited only a beat after Alec threw the aspirin back to start in again.

"I know there's more to all of this than you're telling me, Hardison, and I'm pretty sure Sophie knows it too. What _I'm_ telling you is that I'm not going to ask. I'd tell her to do the same, but it might just make her more curious, and anyway, she's not too thrilled with me at the moment," Nate trailed off, rubbing at his face.

"Look, man. I don't know where you're going with this, but-"

"You've been over there all day. If you had any other leads, we'd all know about it by now. So you're going back to the data. I'm guessing the footage."

Hardison was almost sure that his rummaging through the refrigerator gave nothing away, but this was Nate. He'd probably pick up on it anyway, and offering him a soda wasn't likely to distract him. "I told you, it's nothing but parking lots."

"Oh, come on. Whoever put Eliot in the state he's in would have had to weaken him first, to prevent him from getting the advantage. That would have taken, at the very least, time in a locked room with no direct contact, even with the drugs."

"There was a window in the door," Alec could tell by Nate's expression that he'd only confirmed everything he'd been trying to deny.

"If they were looking through it, he would have seen them, and given a full description the moment he was lucid, but he didn't, did he?"

"Fine," Alec admitted with frustration. "Yeah. They had cameras on him the whole time. Caught the whole thing, and it ain't pretty." He shook his head. "You think he wants everyone knowing it?"

"No, which is the only reason I'm not telling you to let me see it. And I'm not telling you to stop, because you wouldn't listen to me anyway. But I'm telling you to be careful. I don't want you sitting up all night torturing yourself with it."

"You really think I'm the type?"

Nate laughed. "Of course you are."

\---

 _"So how'd you find me?" Alec shouted across the airfield, wanting to zip his parka, but not wanting to make any sudden movements, even though Nathan Ford was armed only with a styrofoam cup of coffee._

"Because you switched off. Went into slack mode a little too early. When you're in crunch mode, Mr. Hardison, you blast through it until you're done and pay attention to nothing else, until in your world, there is nothing else. Believe me, that part, I understand." Ford took an abortive step forward, and Alec drew back, sharply, raising his hands again.

Ford continued on, conversationally, grinning like he knew he was right. "But then the job's done and you're too fried to remember to punch out before leaving the office. You tired, you get sloppy. Mess up."

Alec took a moment to be mortified that of all the investigators and detectives and agents in the world, Ford, with his greasy hair, rumpled suit and casual demeanor, was the one who caught up with him. "And it was one hell of a crunch, wasn't it? To get you all the way out here?" Ford shook his head in amusement. "It's ironic, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Apart from the fact that the only reason I caught up with you is because you've been choosing caffeine over sleep for three days straight?" Ford snorted. "Ah. Well. There's the fact that my partner and I are supposed to bring you in for freelancing the same job that General Delaney wanted to contract you for. And you can't tell me that the money wasn't good enough, because…" Laughing, he trailed off.

"Never said there was anything wrong with the job itself," Alec couldn't help but grin, though he was pretty sure that Ford was forcing his reaction. "Apart from having to clock in, and do what I'm told, and, well, everything. And have you looked at the hinky shit Delaney's into? Man's as crooked as they come."

"Yeah, well. Believe me, if my bosses could come up with a financial benefit to nailing him, we'd probably be on it. Put your hands down, would you? You're making me nervous."

Alec did as he was told, and then figured that at this point, shouting through the wind was equally ridiculous. He was too exhausted to keep running, anyway.

"I mean, I've been tracking you since you left for Keflavik, but I didn't expect to find you still here. Must be my lucky day."

"That's great. So what do I have to look forward to?"

"Locals are handling it. They know damned well they can't charge you in the States without it being made public that they tried to hire you, so they're claiming no knowledge. To them, it's just happy coincidence."

"That's something, at least."

"Well. Here's the deal. You still have the original drive?"

"I might."

"Well. Here's how we play this," his tone changing slightly, almost joking. "Since the suspect knew he was being pursued, he dumped the dead weight, left the drive behind, which my associate came across just as the plane was taxiing down the runway. It's unfortunate that our target escaped," he ended his narration, explaining, "Since the drive is returned, the investigation is called off within another few days. Politics being what they are, they're not going to be pursuing extraditions, so the investigation will be dropped."

"Fine. You give it back, and I'll just duck out through Reykjavik, or something, and we all pretend that this was a bad dream, yeah?"

"You'll never make it through the airport. They've got your picture, and they've got it on paper. Unhackable and waiting at every gate. It's going to take some time for the dogs to be called off. The investigation will be dropped, but that only means that they're not actively pursuing. The charges will still stick."

"So they get the files back, and I'm stuck either way."

"Well, no. I presume you've already copied them, right? Well. If you were to concede to being chaperoned until liftoff, you could be heading back to Virginia within six hours. By the time my company's making calls to the General's office as a show of patriotism and good faith, you're halfway to Chicago. Of course, you're welcome to take your chances, here."

"So you're going to just let me go?"

"I'm not the sheriff, I'm the detective. I connect the dots, and sort what needs to be sorted. Figure you're smart enough that if you sorted yourself out, went straight and maybe worked on that focus issue you've got, you could run half the world."

"As if those aren't mutually exclusive," Alec said, pulling the drive out of his pack and handing it over. "It's a deal."

"Right. Well." Ford nodded, before turning back towards the terminal, hefting the metal case in his hand. "Get your ass inside before I change my mind. It's freezing out here."

\---

"You're going to wear yourself out," Nate was explaining. "You're going to mess up. And right now, you messing up could mean that Eliot's not the only one looking into a whole world of hurt."

"I know. It's serious, and I get that. But you can't just tell me to stop. You know me so well, you know how I roll."

"I'm not telling you to stop. I'm telling you to work on it. In the _morning_. I mean, we all saw him when he got out of there. If the footage is what I think it is, you should at least deal with it with a clear head, all right?"

He stared until Alec surrendered. Done handing out orders for the time being, he changed the subject. "If it makes you feel any better, I actually came here to help."

"Please don't tell me you came to tuck me in."

"What?" Nate blinked. "No. Give me what you got. The warehouse, files on the guards. Another set of eyes, which, by the way, were picking apart crooked paperwork since you were in diapers, might not be the worst plan."

"All right. Cool." Alec felt suddenly heavy, tired, and the room had gone too quiet, except for the ticking of the clock, which never really went away anyhow. Sleep, now that he thought about it, sounded really good.

Leading Nate towards the office end of the living room, Alec sat down began to transfer the files to a jump drive.

"How's he doing, anyhow?" Nate asked, frowning a little as he considered the spread of computers and parts lying out on the shelf behind the desk.

"Huh? Oh. Still a little beat up and out of it, but he's with it. You ain't been over there yet?"

"Was going to, but Sophie was going to head over there. Way things are going today, last thing Eliot needs is us arguing in his living room." Catching Alec's raised eyebrows, he snorted, explaining. "It's the usual baffling array."

The files were finished transferring, and Alec was pretty sure there was something else that he was supposed to remember, but it wasn't coming to mind.

"But he's okay, though? I kind of figured he'd be crawling over the walls."

"Probably will be by morning, yeah."

"Good. Maybe he'll actually be bored enough to appreciate the doctor's appointment, if only for the. You know. Novelty."

Alec thought back, but couldn't remember anything. "What appointment?"

"Follow up. The usual. Tomorrow afternoon. Parker found the paperwork he got at the hospital and ordered me to set it up. He's going to love this."

"Warn me so I can head to the bomb shelter."

"Right." Nate agreed glumly, eyes still regarding the shelves. "Any of those laptops spares?"

"Yeah, what for?"

"Got some games recorded at home that I missed when we were gone. Packers versus the Vikings, a few other ones."

"Ah. Bribery. Right. This one's running basic Windows, nothing fancy. Plenty of space. Think it probably has pinball loaded if he's desperate, but he doesn't seem the type."

Nate blinked, taking the laptop while Alec rummaged through the box of power cords. "The type? For _video_ games?"

For a mastermind, Nate could be unimaginative sometimes, but Alec didn't figure he really wanted the full explanation. "You can tell a lot about a person by the games they play."

\---

 _"How do you want me to play this?"_

"Clean. No electronic trail. At all. Cash only, and assume every call you make is going to be traced. No digital surveillance, either."

"You're cutting me off at the knees, here. Your man really that paranoid?"

"No. But he's smart, fast, and careful. Thinks the best of everyone until he has evidence to the contrary. He is curious, though, so he usually finds it."

"Good to know. I can use that."

"See that you do. I was careful not to leave a trail the first time, but recent activities will have caught his attention."

"So you're promoting him from collateral damage to primary target, right." There was a pause on the line. "What about Spencer?"

"Alec Hardison is the priority for now. Take him out, their whole unit falls, and Spencer will be a walk in the park."

\---

"Eliot?"

 _Shit_. "Sophie?" He managed to get his hand out of his pocket, swiveling his side away so she wouldn't see evidence of the nutcase he'd become. By the time she came out of the kitchen, his hand was resting casually on the railing.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he yawned, like the adrenaline wasn't coursing through him. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted see if you needed any help with dinner, and see how you were doing."

"Oh." Something about this wasn't making sense. Not that Sophie wasn't the sort to hover and try to take care of people, but the fact that she'd take the chance and insert herself until she was confident that it was worthwhile.

"So?"

Eliot blinked. "So what?"

"How are you doing?"

Eliot pasted a grin on his face that he really didn't feel, but it beat leaving the mask off entirely. "Starving."

Sophie was already turning back into the kitchen, talking over her shoulder, and Eliot released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. _Christ._

"I've looked through the larder, you've got some sauce, here, and I was thinking pasta and salad?"

"Sounds good," Eliot agreed, sliding the gun into the raincoat hanging on the hook by the front door before following.

He only made it as far as the doorway, however, when he caught sight of the newspaper lying folded back on the table. She'd been doing the crossword puzzle while waiting for him.

He could see her, trying to come up with a six-letter word for _witty reply_ , while he'd been going for the gun. Scrawling in pen as he came down the stairs, aware of the weight in his pocket, mentally rehearsing the draw and how he'd correct his aim without the use of his steadying arm. Looking up the next clue-

 _If she hadn't called out..._

He thought he might be sick, and didn't even notice that she was setting aside an alarmingly large amount of spaghetti until she spoke. "Before you ask, I'm making enough for three. Parker might be joining us."

Eliot turned back towards the hallway. "She here?"

"Well. Sort of. She was reluctant to actually come inside until I talked to you." Sophie smiled, softening her next words. "She wasn't sure she was welcome."

"Why wouldn't she be?" _Everyone else seems to be making themselves at home._

"I think she's worried that you're mad at her. Apparently you were grumpy the other day. Not, mind you, that you weren't without reason, of course, but."

"Right." _You scared off Parker, and that wasn't even when you were going for the gun. This is going to go well._

Sophie looked up from the refrigerator, her face shifting slightly downwards in speculation. "You weren't expecting _me_ , either, were you?" She read the answer on her face. "Oh dear. Hardison said he'd warn you."

"Think he had some stuff on his mind." _And please don't ask me about what._ "But. It's cool, thanks for comin', and all." Eliot realized he was still standing in the doorway, and made his way to the counter. "You're welcome any time, you know. Don't need a written invitation."

If Sophie realized he was deliberately turning on the charm, she played along anyway, instantly brightening. "Okay. Could you keep an eye on the water? I'll go see if I can find Parker, if you're really okay with it?"

"Huh? Yeah." He shook his head, waving her away from the stove. "Get her ass in here."

She brushed past him, entirely too close, but he held the flinch back until she'd left the room. He listened to her calling out for Parker as he opened the freezer, grabbing another ice pack. He'd have to bring down the ones that he'd been stockpiling upstairs, but it could wait. Right now, he had to get his shit together. Get his game face on.

The footsteps behind him were careful and hesitant. Parker, then, not Sophie. It was easier to talk to the frozen peas, though. "Sorry about yesterday. I'm not mad at you, and I wasn't then. Just stressed out."

When he turned, shutting the door, Parker was nodding awkwardly, clearly embarrassed, and Sophie coming into the kitchen behind her probably wasn't helping things any. Eliot rushed to change the subject. The sooner they'd seen for themselves that everything was fine, the sooner they'd leave him alone. "So. You guys want garlic bread, too? Think I got some wine around here."

"Do you think you should be drinking?"

"I'm on water, but believe me. Hardison bought the sauce. You'll probably need it. Besides," he said, shifting into a heavy drawl, "I got my two favorite ladies in here, of course I'm going to try an' get 'em drunk."

Rolling her eyes, Sophie ordered him to the table. Parker watched him sit down, before disappearing again, her footsteps strangely heavy and loud, up the stairs and down again. Her entrance was announced with the shuffling of feet and the rattling of pill bottles.

"You should take these with meals, right?"

He regarded the antibiotics, seeing the bottle sailing across the kitchen, crashing into the wall behind the sink, pills scattering on impact as the intruders ran from the room, leaving him to his own business. Grimacing, he accepted the bottle and set it aside, careful to nod his thanks. "Right."

He looked at the clock. An hour, two tops, and they'd be gone.

\---

He'd missed three calls while he'd been sleeping, all from Ron, who'd also texted him, apparently drunk. Wondering if he was about to hear really bad news, really confusing news, or a just bunch of random bar noise, he listened to his voicemail.

 _"Alec! It's Ron. I'm sitting here with the guys, and no one's seen you for a while, so we're wondering where you've run off to. And, more importantly, who you've run off with. I got a twenty riding on this one with Mike, man, so call me back and I'll cut you in."_

Christ Almighty.

The rest of the world had been spinning onwards through another uneventful month, full of the usual wars, economic crises, wars, reality shows. People had been going to work, getting the mail, and staying out too late on work nights. Some of them had been doing so at Alec's favorite bar.

It was kind of nice to be missed, it made him laugh. But mostly, it was just surreal. There was no way he could call Ron back to explain away the clusterfuck that everything had become since the last time he'd seen him.

He remembered sitting down at the bar, not knowing what came next except for some vague plans involving Kansas, not knowing that in the next five minutes, something unexpected was going to change.

Not knowing that in less than a thousand hours, he'd be standing in his kitchen, holding his phone as listened to the clock ticking in his head, feeling _nostalgic_ over it.

" _As if I needed to be cut in on a twenty,_ " he was going to say, as he scrolled down to call back.

When the phone rang, vibrating in his hand, he nearly dropped it to the floor.

It was Nate, and the past was the past. He'd deal with it later.

"Hi, ah, Hardison. I made some headway with the warehouse. There was a prospective buyer in one of the files. All I needed to do was pose as on of their insurance contacts following up on the property damage. Spoke to a woman named Miranda, who couldn't tell me much because of the investigation, but she said that the direct mail company went under months five months ago and moved out. They'd been keeping it empty in anticipation of the sale. Which reminds me, though. The investigation. We're clear?"

Alec had to take a few seconds to parse it out, take it all in. "We're good. Ripped the drives, all that was left was hardware, no way to tell where they lead, and if I missed anything, it's not going to be on our head, but on our guy's. Just to be on the safe side, day I got out of the hospital I cleaned us out of the traffic cameras, and did a real obvious hack into the cameras leading out towards Ohio. Anyway. You got nothing?"

"Yeah. Now that I think of it, it's not really headway, though. Sorry."

"Hold up, man. At least we _know_ it's a dead end, right? So we follow the guards. Shane Geffin wasn't the only one. It's sloppy as hell, but if I used him as a model, I'm guessing we're looking for someone local. I get into his accounts and look for cash deposits."

He wasn't sure where to go from there. Considered a few options before continuing. "Once I've got that figured out, I can see if there's any similar activity happening nearby. It's too much to hope for that others were depositing the same amounts, or. Hell," Alec broke off with the realization. "It's not likely that they were depositing the cash at all."

"Geffin had a wife, and a house that looked like it was still being paid off. He probably would have deposited at least _most_ of it. And if I'm right, the others would be in the same boat. Whoever we're looking for probably wasn't local, otherwise he wouldn't be having to hire out rent-a-cops under the table, he'd have his own crew. And it's probable that he found them through the same source. Where else did Geffin work?"

"He was unemployed for the last few months, if I'm remembering right, until about five weeks ago."

"Crap. I was hoping our guy would have pulled from the same source."

Hardison nodded to himself, then shook his head. "No. Wait, Nate. Hang on." After a moment to gather his thoughts, he continued, bringing up Geffin's bank accounts. "Geffin's wife was working part time at the school, but not enough that he didn't have to collect unemployment. Aw, hell, this is going to be _easy_."

"What do you mean?"

"What you said about hiring from the same source. Kansas went to direct deposit for unemployment payments a few years ago, which means they have to maintain bank account numbers. I can filter them out by location and gender to narrow the field. Take the account numbers and look for cash deposits starting at about the same time. Now some people, you hand them a pile of cash, they're not going to put it in the bank, but like you said. Geffin might not have been the only guy with a mortgage."

"And if that doesn't work?"

Alec turned to the other screen. "I'll check the local libraries, see if he's got a card."

"Okay. Why?"

"Not seeing any bills for internet access being paid out of any of his accounts, not for months. They canceled the cable a few months back."

"Scaling back on expenditures. Cautious, for a guy who sat idly by to watch a man get tortured."

"Right," Alec stumbled over Nate's words, and tabbed through a few more screens. "And his local library system, like most, requires a library card to log into the computers."

"Okay, so if he has a library card, you can find out what he's been looking at?"

"Doubt it. Ever since the Patriot Act came down, most libraries have been deliberately purging their circulation records, and I've never seen any of them keeping web histories on the computers. But…" he trailed off, using a false account setup to worm his way into the system. It was the standard setup, the same as a hundred other library systems. _Gotta love vendor systems_. It wasn't even a challenge to get into the librarian interface and do a quick patron search.

" _Hardison_ ," Nate growled impatiently.

"Wah? Oh. Okay. Not seeing anything. He doesn't have a card. Which means no computer, which means for him to get hired out, he wasn't responding to anything online. Doesn't mean the job wasn't posted, but frankly, given the nature of the position, I can't see our guy advertising it so widely."

"So you're thinking?"

"Could be anything. If it was posted on a wall somewhere, the best thing I can think of is to see what I find out about the other guards, map out where they might cross paths."

"That's great!"

"It's going to take a day or so, though. And it might not lead anywhere."

"But it's a plan. Plans, I'm good with. Let me know when you need us to follow up on foot. I'm going to call Eliot, get him out to his appointment, but if you want to call me when you get somewhere with all this?"

"Will do."

\---

Eliot was pretty sure he'd cut Nate off mid-apology when he hung up the phone

It wasn't worth fighting, and anyway. It wasn't like he hadn't been meaning to set up the appointment anyway. In a day or two.

He was stiff enough that getting out of bed took two attempts. Scrubbing the tears away, he groaned at the feel of the stubble against the back of his hand. _This is pathetic_.

The shower was already filling the room with steam by the time he realized that at some point, he'd have to get undressed. He'd thought about it, yesterday. But Hardison had been downstairs, waiting in his kitchen, and all Eliot could think about was the sheer effort it would take to hold himself upright, and the mortification that would come pounding up the stairs on Hardison's heels if he failed.

Giving up, he'd leaned in enough to dunk his head into the stream, and dried his face off before trying to towel his hair dry.

He'd barely managed it, and had to satisfy himself with running a comb through his hair. His shirt had been soaked, by the end of it, so he'd pulled another sweatshirt on over it, and called it good. It wasn't until he'd gotten the sling back on that he'd gone back and turned the shower off.

How he'd thought he'd manage _actually bathing_ was beyond him, now.

It had been almost a month since he'd taken a proper shower.

He was probably still carrying around trace amounts of that month on his skin, under his clothes. In his hair.

Fuck, he was disgusting.

Stepping on his own toes, he managed to get the socks off, and the sweats, and the boxers. Then came the hard part. The first sweatshirt unzipped, and came off easily, but the two shirts beneath it were pullovers.

The shoulder was bad enough, but the twisting felt like it was going to tear him in half.

 _Think, man. What did they do at the hospital?_

He remembered an orderly helping, taking turns with the nurse to manipulate Eliot's arms in the correct order, tugging the material where it needed to go.

 _They also pumped you so full of drugs you wouldn't have noticed it if they'd stolen half your organs._

He didn't have two sets of extra hands, didn't even have one _full_ set.

He was standing in his bathroom, trying not to move his shoulder at all, trying not to breathe, with no pants and two shirts on. He didn't need to open his eyes to know what a ridiculous reflection he'd see in the mirror.

Opening the drawer by the sink, he was relieved that the scissors, at least, were where they were supposed to be.

It was awkward as hell, he couldn't get the angle right, and the blades kept getting caught on the material, but he eventually managed to cut the shirts open from the hem to the collar.

Satisfied by his victory, he put the scissors away and glanced at himself in the mirror.

It was a mistake.

He'd been warned, back at the hospital, that he'd lost some weight, but he wasn't ready for the sight of it, muscles gone to waste, gray sick skin hanging too loose and paper-thin, like he'd deflated. The bootmark on his side faded to green at the edges, though maybe it was just a trick of the light, and bruises radiated out from his visibly swollen shoulder, streaks of jaundice-colored skin radiating out from the purple and blending into the red.

It was his hand, though, curled rigidly against his chest, immobile, that stayed with him after he closed his eyes. Useless and gnarled, and it wasn't even everything that was wrong with him.

He reached out, feeling his way carefully into the shower and backing slowly into the heat. Tried not to think about it, tried to relax. He tried not to fucking start freaking out, and mostly, he failed.

This is what he was now.

And hell, everyone else was so damned aware of it, too. Always watching him like he was going to fall over, like they thought he couldn't handle anything. Worrying about him, if not outright pitying him.

It should have been comforting, that they were there. That they came around to check on him, make sure he ate. All that.

He wasn't supposed to fucking _need_ all that. Not that, and not their concern. He was supposed to be able to take care of his fucking self.

 _And yet, here you are._

Freaking out in your shower, sniveling like a bitch.

He took a deep, wet breath and tilted his head under the stream. _Face up and deal_.

This would pass. He'd heal and get himself back into shape. Work himself back up into who he used to be.

 _Calm the fuck down_.

It was a pain in the ass getting the shampoo where it needed to go, and he was pretty sure he used too much, but he managed to wash his hair without too much trouble.

He'd never felt so sickened by the feeling of his own skin under his hands as he tried to rub the bruises out, but that's what washcloths were for.

He stayed under the spray for a very long time after the soap had been rinsed away, staring at the grout between the tiles for an indeterminate length of time until the water threatened to cool.

Nate was going to be there soon, and he still needed to get a comb through his hair. Brush his teeth. Still needed to get dressed.

\---

He grabbed the first button-up shirt that he could find and was dragging it up over his bad arm before he realized it was the one Hardison had mentioned. The one he'd worn when he'd run into Mikel Dayan.

 _It's just a damned shirt_.

It was too thin, anyway, but it was already mostly on, so he settled for pulling on a flannel shirt over it. By the time he zipped up the sweatshirt, he was almost warm.

Socks, then, two pairs, and jeans. Trainers that he could slide his feet into without undoing the laces.

He really wanted to pull his hair back into a ponytail, but it just wasn't going to happen. He'd grab a hat before leaving the house.

Keeping his eyes averted, he ducked back into the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of painkillers, shoving them in his pocket, annoyed at how badly he wanted one, but it would have to wait. For all he knew, the doctor wanted him going in clean. He'd retrieve the antibiotics when he got downstairs.

And if he wanted to get downstairs before Nate arrived, he probably had to start now. It was one thing to be this fucked up. It was another thing entirely to let the boss in on it.

\---

Eliot watched the door close behind the nurse and finally let himself relax. He'd never been so relieved to be told to wait in his life.

Even if it took an hour, at least from here, leaning against the paper-wrapped examination table, he couldn't feel eyes burning into the side of his skull.

On the ride over, Nate had been trying to make conversation. Something about the weather, something about a football game, something about the warehouse, and how he was sure they'd find something, soon.

"We'll get everyone on it, and we'll figure it out."

 _Everyone_.The idea wasn't comforting, but even that was too much to admit, not if he ever wanted Nate to stop looking at him like that.

"I'm fine," was all the reassurance he'd felt like offering. He didn't think it had sounded like much.

\---

Two blood draws and an X-ray later, the doctor declared him fit enough to go back to bed.

It was a little anti-climactic.

\---

Someone had taken sandpaper to his eyeballs without his noticing, the numbers on the screen were starting to bleed into each other, and his back was killing him.

It was a good sign. Meant he'd been following the information for a long time without hitting an obvious dead end.

But it wasn't going as well as he'd thought it would, trying to find the other guards. There were just too many possibilities to choose from, and nothing was jumping out at him. He needed more information so he could _get_ more information.

 _Story of your life._

Despite what Nate seemed to think, Alec wasn't trying to torture himself. He just needed to track something that wasn't even a fully-fledged idea yet.

He opened the first file on the drive, and watched the two guards drag Eliot into the cell, leaving him unconscious on the floor in nothing but his jeans.

Geffin was the first, he was pretty sure, but the angle was so awkward that he couldn't be sure. He couldn't get a clean enough image to run through his identification programs.

But it wasn't like those were helping, much, anyway. The search had shut itself down three hours ago, with no good matches. The man in the photo was a ghost.

Alec really wasn't looking forward to telling the others that it all had been a giant waste of time.

This, though, was another story entirely. At least one of the other guards had to be on unemployment. Had to have an ID somewhere. And if Alec was right, he already had the data he needed. He just needed to know how to recognize it.

The first scene ended about a minute after the door shut, and the file closed, leaving Alec no wiser than he'd been at the start.

The next file's time stamp jumped ahead three hours, and by then the cell had gone dark, really dark, but Eliot was beginning to stir.

His arm moved first, slowly, before his eyes flashed brightly as they opened, the night-vision turning them silver as they searched the room, finding nothing because there was nothing to find.

Eliot rolled over, pushed himself up and tensing, frozen and concentrating. Annoyed and calculating. Waiting. And then he was moving to sit against the wall. After a minute, the camera shut itself off again.

The next several files showed nothing more than minute differences in his posture over the next several hours, but apparently the shifts in his expression weren't enough to set the camera off.

Alec never saw the anger change to confusion. Boredom into irritation. The file after that, Eliot was pissed off again, and patting himself down, searching empty pockets. He'd apparently shifted in his sleep in the next few.

One of the clips was much brighter, and the night-vision had been turned off. Two men went into the room, both keeping their heads averted, hiding their faces from the camera. One had a gun trained and ready to go, while the other placed food and water on the floor, and a bucket in the corner. Then they ghosted away again, and the clip ended.

Now that Eliot had woken up, started moving around, inspecting the room, the files were starting to get larger, each one containing more footage. Sometimes pacing, sometimes trying to look out the door. Passing by the food and water, regarding it with suspicion.

 _Even before going in there, he'd known what to expect._

Some things in the world, no one should ever have to be right about.

Eliot didn't eat, didn't drink anything for more than two days, though the food and water were replaced nightly as he slept. _Yeah, like he's really picky about the sell-by date._

But eventually, he gave in. Watching that clip, hell, watching it twice, Alec was sure without looking that his expression matched the one Eliot wore as he picked up the water. Disappointment. Failure.

Knowing damned well that he wouldn't have to be watching it if they'd only gotten their asses in gear sooner, found him more quickly, Alec stopped the playback, stabbing at his keyboard with a vengeance.

 _Focus, man. Move on_.

Skipping ahead, next clip he chose was no better. Eliot stared across the room, his expression nothing but drugged blankness.

Alec knew how this all ended. Had seen enough of the show to know the plot, and he had the soundtrack memorized.

He went back and opened one of the earlier files, again studying the irritated and resigned speculation as Eliot surveyed the room, gearing up to fight. It was a familiar look. Compared to the other footage, it was actually almost comforting.

If Alec wanted to, he could probably keep clicking through the clips, following the glint of Eliot's eyes until he found the exact moment that the fight went out of them.

And anyway, he wasn't supposed to be watching Eliot, anyway. He was supposed to be doing research.

He checked the clock, surprised to find that an entire day had passed, and he'd never gotten back to Nate. And he should probably check in with Eliot, see how he was doing.

But it could wait. It wasn't like he had anything new to say, and anyhow, he probably wouldn't be able to hear anything either of them said over the sound of the timer counting down.

Now that he'd noticed it, it would probably fade out again pretty soon, it usually did. Then it would hide, waiting for the moment he turned his brain off, let himself get distracted, and it would come back with a vengeance.

 _Ain't fair_.

Maybe if he just stopped, for a while, really concentrated on something, painting maybe, it would go away. But he wasn't in the mood for painting, anyway.

Alec stretched until his lower back stopped screaming, and tried to remember if he had anything worth eating in the fridge.

He was shoving a burrito into the microwave when he realized that he hadn't talked to anyone since morning, and he didn't even know if anyone was making sure Eliot was, _what? Fed? Being seen to? Okay?_

He ignored it for about ten minutes, but by the time he was finished eating, he was already picking up his phone.

\---

Eliot spent the afternoon dozing on the couch, icing his shoulder and watching the game on the laptop that Nate had given him. It was past seven when the Vikings beat the Packers, though the file ended before he could get the post-game. Didn't matter, they'd just be droning on, blathering about Brett Favre, anyway.

There was nothing to do but eat something, maybe, and get ready for bed. Probably sooner rather than later, though he wasn't tired, not really.

The quiet was starting to set his teeth on edge, though.

He checked his phone, but there were no missed calls.

He considered calling Hardison to see how far he'd gotten with everything. See if he could borrow some DVDs tomorrow or something, now that he had the option of watching them. Maybe he'd even see if there was anything he could actually to do _help_. But Hardison was probably wired into his computer games by now. Out on the town, maybe.

 _Ain't like the guy's got nothing better to do than babysit your sorry ass._

Tomorrow. He'd make the call tomorrow.

\---

By the time he reached the kitchen and considered the prospects, Eliot found that he'd lost his appetite.

 _Screw it. Should probably crash out, anyway. Just get the day over with, already_.

The phone rang when he was halfway up the stairs, and he almost missed the call, a little short of breath when he answered. "Hey man, what's up?"

"I'm starved," Hardison answered. "Gonna order take-out. I can bring over some Chinese or something, if you haven't eaten yet."

"Sure. Um." Eliot was surprised at how quickly his appetite returned. "Order some Kung Pao chicken, would you?"

"I'm on it. Be there in a bit."

\---

"I think that one's just rice," Alec said, indicating the carton Eliot was opening, rummaging through the bag for the chopsticks. Just because Eliot was temporarily in the fork utilization camp, didn't mean _he_ had to, after all. "What d'you want to drink?"

"Beer's in the fridge, if you want. Grab be one while you're at it."

He opened two bottles without asking if he should be drinking, and dished some more rice into his bowl. He began to carry the provisions to the table, surprised when Eliot continued out of the kitchen and across into the living room. He was easing down onto the couch when Alec remembered to ask, "you go to the doctor?"

"Yeah, and everything's going the way it should be, and I've got test results on the way. Everything's fine, but. Really don't feel like talking about it."

"That's cool." The laptop was sitting closed on the chair, but with his hands full, it was too much effort to move it, so he sat down on the other end of the couch and changed the subject. "Nate said he got some football game on there. You watch it yet?"

"Haven't gotten to it yet," Eliot said. "Packers and the Vikings. I could throw it on if you want."

"Hell yeah, do it up," Alec said, before realizing that with Eliot's fucked up arm, it would be probably be easier if he got up and dealt with it.

But Eliot opened the computer and messed with it for a few seconds, getting it set up before balancing it on the chair again, swiveling the seat and checking to make sure they'd both be able to see. Satisfied, he grunted and sat back again, making sure his beer was within reach and his bowl was balanced in the crook of his arm.

It was awkward enough that if Alec shifted away, it would probably spill all over the place. So he didn't move.

\---

It was halfway into the third quarter, and Eliot didn't even care that he already knew that there was no chance the Packers were going to pull ahead, because there was no one there to call him on his foreknowledge.

Hardison had passed out a while ago, not long after drinking the beer that Eliot had decided not to mix with painkillers and antibiotics, and eating himself into a probable food coma. His head was back against the top of the couch at an improbable angle, and he was close enough that Eliot could hear him breathing.

In a while, he'd kick him out. He'd wake up anyway, once the twinges looming over the horizon made themselves known and forced Eliot to make his way back up to his bed.

Well aware that it was only because there was no one else to see it, Eliot settled back, rolling his head against the back of the couch. From this angle, he couldn't see much of Hardison's face, but he'd be able to tell when he began to stir. He could watch him breathe, chest moving under the thin fabric of his T-shirt, shadows in the hollow of his throat. Long arms smooth and loose at his sides.

It would have been ridiculous, all of it, if there'd been anywhere to see it, but there were no eyes anywhere, no one to observe. And there was still a quarter and a half left to the end of the game, anyway.

Eliot thought about turning back towards the screen, but lacked the energy to do anything more than listen, drifting with half-closed eyes. At some point, Hardison shifted in his sleep, settling more deeply into the couch. The skin of his arm was warm, along the edge of Eliot's hand, falling still again.

He never stirred, but Eliot was instantly more awake than he'd been in ages. He'd probably never sleep again.

Didn't mean Hardison didn't need it, though. He'd let him sleep a little longer.


	12. Chapter 12

  
There was a jostling, and he awoke to find himself in unexpectedly familiar surroundings. Eliot was on the other end of the couch, face turned away, but watching him sidelong like-

 _Like he's expecting me to attack_ , Alec realized, horrified.

But then another second ticked past, and he looked again, and Eliot was staring at the bookshelf across the room, miles away, evidently exhausted.

 _Or maybe he's just waking up, too._

Another minute ticked by, and neither of them had spoken yet, and it was starting to get awkward.

Alec gave first, dragging a hand over his face. "Yo man. Sorry. Didn't mean to pass out."

"It's cool," the words were spoken through a clenched jaw. "Kind of late." On the chair, serving as evidence, the laptop screen was black.

Shaking the last of the sleep from his head as he yawned, Alec could only agree.

But something wasn't adding up. Something was off.

 _Other than passing out and probably drooling all over your shirt_? Standing, he picked up the dishes to cover for the mortification of being caught sleeping in class, and headed for the kitchen. He was upending the empty bottles in the sink to drain when he realized what he'd had wrong.

He'd seen Eliot wake up a hundred times, now, thanks to the security footage. Saw his eyes flash open, sharp and aware, always alert. He never looked as tired and worn as this. Maybe it was the painkillers, though judging by Eliot's expression, either they hadn't been working too well, or they'd worn off.

And if that was the case, it wasn't too likely that he'd fall asleep sitting up.

Judging by the time, he'd sat there, awake, for well over an hour, apparently unmoving. His ribs had to be killing him, by now, and there was no way he wasn't smart enough not to know that he should have been in bed, lying down, taking some of the stress off. But he'd just. Sat there. _Probably waiting for your ass to wake up_

Alec huffed his annoyance to the trashcan. _Supposed to be coming over her making sure he's sorted. Not making it worse because he's too polite to kick your ass out_.

He headed towards the bathroom, needing a few minutes to think before heading back to face Eliot. Eliot who wasn't usually so polite, so quietly patient.

It wasn't that he was the sort to whine, or anything, but he'd bitch and grumble plenty. A head cold was usually enough to make people to keep their distance, but injured? At least _one_ of them should have been shouting hours ago.

 _Something's actually wrong with him_ , he hated himself for the sudden realization, but he wasn't sure it because all this was happening in the first place, or because he hadn't seen it coming.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen plenty of evidence pointing in that direction, on the video, in that room. In the hospital. He should have known about it by now.

 _Seriously_.

\---

Eliot waited until he heard the car start out front, before moving to stretch out on the couch. It was still warm, where Hardison had been sprawled.

It wasn't helping. And it didn't change anything.

He'd listened to the end of the game, knowing all the while that he should have been waking Hardison up. Going up to bed to get some real sleep, not sitting there, aware of little besides the feeling of gravity, of sinking into Hardison's space. The solidness of his body. It hadn't felt weird, then. Not like it did now. Not by a long fucking shot.

He'd extricated himself cleanly the moment he sensed Hardison moving, had already been at the other end of the couch, deliberately dazed and unaware, but he'd felt the eyes on him, the awareness.

He wasn't sure he'd been caught out, but Hardison had known _something_ was off, even if he didn't know what. _That_ much had been glaringly apparent. And the kid was smart. He'd figure it out eventually.

Probably before Eliot himself did. He was narrowing it down, though. Embarrassment, mostly. Guys didn't do that sort of thing. Well, some did. But not him. Even now, even with all the things he'd started admitting he'd wanted. Emasculation had never been on that particular list, and hell, it shouldn't have even been in his _vocabulary_ , but there it was, in flashing neon lights.

If this was how it felt, maybe he needed to rethink some things again. And maybe it- _guys_ weren't actually his scene, maybe it had all been just a fluke. Some sort of midlife crisis, or something.

\---

Alec browsed Wikipedia's articles on PTSD and related entries until the words wouldn't string together properly anymore, and then he read some more.

He laughed into his pillow, later, listening to the countdown in his head, when he finally recognized the sound for what it probably was. Stopped laughing when he realized it didn't seem to be an instant cure, and turned the idea over, considering the angles.

Maybe if he hadn't watched those videos. If he hadn't hit his head. If he'd been able to go more than half an hour without having to think about any of it.

But wishing was pointless, didn't solve anything at all, so Alec reined it in. Put it in a box labeled _Really Shitty Month: side effects may include insomnia, aural hallucinations, ongoing feelings of helplessness and failure_. The lid wouldn't shut as tightly as he wanted it to.

And the ticking was still there. Always there, in the background, keeping him awake, like now, and following him into sleep.

Except, apparently, when he was crashing on Eliot's couch.

 _C'mon, man. Admit it. The couch has nothing to do with it_.

And that sucked, because he had a suspicion that he knew what _did_ , and it was a hell of a lot more complicated than an overstuffed piece of furniture.

\---

Alec slept in, spending most of the day wading through the data again. He might have gotten somewhere with it if he hadn't been distracted every ten minutes by the phone that sat next to his mouse pad, silent.

It was just past eleven when it actually rang, and Eliot's number flashing on the display might as well have read _commence feeling of pervasive doom now_.

"Hey, got a question for you. I was messing around earlier, and turned the wireless on, but the only networks that show up were locked, and then I remembered I don't have a modem. Or whatever."

 _Just a tech question, then. Nothing serious_.

"Uh, yeah." He sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes and blinking towards the hallway. "You want me to come over there and set you up?"

"Uh," he paused, probably checking the time. "Nah. It can wait."

"Right on. I'll get it sorted. Just let me know when."

"Cool. Thanks." Alec thought that was the end of it, was getting ready to hang up, when Eliot continued. "So, uh. How's it going?"

"Aw, man, it's been a really good day for bad data, and that's all I'm sayin'. What about you?"

"I'm fine. Had another doctor appointment this morning. Parker just left, think I bored the hell out of her, though. Slept most of the day." It felt like a strange thing for Eliot to be saying. Like it meant something more, like he was trying to tell him something.

Or that Alec was just becoming paranoid enough to _make_ it mean something. His own reply, "good, that's good" sounded a little terse in response. "Unless that means you're going to be up all night, now."

"Nah. Gonna turn in pretty soon, here."

"Right on. Me too."

\---

It was nearly six the next evening the next time his phone rang.

"Monopoly," Parker said, leaving him trying to remember if that was one of their current emergency code words, but he was fairly certain that this month, they were going with a nautical theme. Which had been a silly idea anyway, completely impractical when even he was talented enough to translate "I just ran into a friend from home, and we're going out for coffee," into "I think I've picked up a tail, warn the others." But Sophie had insisted, right at the outset, and they'd all been playing along ever since. But that was neither here nor there.

"What? Are you okay?"

"No. Yes," Parker huffed. "I'm fine. I meant we should _play_ Monopoly. It's raining outside, and there's nothing to do, and Eliot's not feeling well, so we should go over there and you need to take a break. Nate told me so, yesterday. Said you were going to wear yourself out if you didn't."

"I was supposed to go over to Nate's tonight, talk to him about stuff." Explaining that the city of Pittsburgh's servers were down for the weekend and that it would be at least twelve hours before he could get to the data wasn't anything that he couldn't manage in five minutes over the phone, but it was close enough to the truth to serve as an excuse.

"I wouldn't," Parker warned. "I just came from there and he and Sophie were arguing. I'd wait a few hours. And during those hours, you should come over and play Monopoly. I'll bring soda!"

She hung up on him before he could get another word in, and he was left considering his options.

If he went over there, he could get a read on Eliot. See where his head was at, because in another day or so, Alec would have enough material to present to the team, and by the end of it, they'd probably have something resembling a plan in place.

And he hadn't heard from Eliot all day, anyhow. For all he knew, no one had. Digging the phone out of his pocket again, he made the call. If his suspicions were correct, he'd need the warning.

\---

Parker was waiting on the front steps, Monopoly board under one arm, a case of orange soda hanging heavily from her other hand, when he opened the door, and Hardison pulled up not two minutes later.

Watching them shed jackets that they apparently didn't need in the frigid hallway, Eliot followed them into the kitchen and asked, "Nate and Sophie coming?"

"No," Parker answered, kicking the refrigerator door shut. "They were fighting, so they don't get to play."

Hardison set his bag down in the corner. "You know what it's about?"

Eliot snorted, forcing himself to take a deep breath, deciding that pneumonia might not feel so bad by comparison. Retrieving the bowl of popcorn from the counter, he set it on the table, tugging his sleeve back down his arm as he took his seat. "Probably the usual. Hardison, Parker brought that soda, it's in the fridge."

Parker was already handing him a can. "Thanks," Hardison said. "That sucks."

"You'd rather they were both here mooning over each other and being awkward? I can't stand awkward people." When Parker opened the box, Eliot wasn't surprised to see that she'd replaced the play money with real bills. He sat down at the kitchen table and tried to remember how the game worked.

"So what do you want to be?" he asked Parker. "The car?"

"I don't care."

Eliot exchanged looks with Hardison, whose raised eyebrows indicated that he wasn't the only one in the room expecting her to have a set-in-stone opinion on the matter.

"Fine," he decided. "I'm the car, then."

\---

The competition was vicious, with Hardison eventually emerging victorious. It had been slow going, as conversations had broken the game play far too often. Trading stories about heists that had gone well, each trying to outdo the next. In that department, Hardison came in dead last.

Eliot spoke for the first time in a while, his voice quiet. "It's just 'cause you don't get your ass away from your computer long enough to make it out the door."

"Hey man, I get around," he replied, haughtily, realizing how that had probably sounded. "I came over here and kicked _both_ your asses at Monopoly. Just wait until we're playing Snakes and Ladders, though, cause I rule at that game."

Parker was glaring into him like she was trying to preemptively figure out his game strategy, and Eliot was smiling, tracing his finger absently through the condensation ring left behind his water glass. There was tension at the edges of the expression, though.

Parker noticed it, too, her head swiveling to follow Alec's gaze. "Your shoulder bothering you?"

"Yeah."

"That sucks. You want us to leave?" Parker asked, hesitating, hands hovering inches above the game board. Alec checked the time. It was almost eleven.

"Nah. Distraction's good. Hang on a minute, though. Gonna go grab my meds."

\---

Another half hour, and Hardison had set him up with internet, scrawling instructions for troubleshooting on a notepad. Eliot didn't honestly think he needed it, it wasn't like he was doing anything that complicated, but he half-listened, and nodded in all the right places. Rolled his eyes at Parker a few times.

It wasn't uncomfortable, really, as it probably should have been, with Hardison leaning over him to point things out on the screen. But it wasn't like he knew what he was doing with computers, that much, at least, had _never_ been a secret.

It was business as usual, actually a little boring. He'd been missing that.

By the time the others cleared out, the painkillers were working well enough that he was asleep within minutes.

\---

There was no reason, in 2009, for anyone not to know how to restart a computer. Even Eliot. And there was no reason he had to call about it in the middle of the damned night.

"So this thing?" he began, once Alec answered the phone, "I was trying to open another window in Explorer, and the screen froze. What should I do?"

Shaking his head, because he'd been waiting to hear impatient complaints, demands for information, for answers that were, in all honesty, long overdue. "You try restarting it?"

"Yeah. Just did the same thing again when I went back online."

"Okay. That's an old laptop, and it could need a new update or something. In the meantime, get it restarted and run the virus scan. It's on the startup menu, if you-"

"I _can_ read," Eliot growled. "Hang on." A few moments later, he said. "Okay, it's going. Look like it's going to be a few minutes."

"Okay." Alec nodded, and changed the topic to why Eliot had actually called.  "So, check it. Finally got enough to call the team together. Nate's planning on tomorrow at his place, but it's not finalized. Tomorrow morning work for you?"

"I don't know, see. I was going to go rock climbing, but I think I can squeeze it in." There was a pause, then, less sarcastically, "You mind picking me up?"

"No problem, just be sure to wear something nice." Hearing how that had probably come out, he grimaced. "I don't want you trailing dirt and grit and that chalk stuff all over my car. I'll call when I'm on my way over."

"Okay. Oh, hey, look like it's found something. It's giving me a prompt. Do I just read it and follow the instructions?"

"And here I was, thinking I was the only genius in town."

\---

Eliot hung up the phone, groaning as he reached to place the laptop on the nightstand, but the painkillers were _finally_ starting to kick in enough that he had a chance in hell of sleeping, at some point, and all told, he was feeling better than he'd felt all day.

 _And maybe the conversation had something to do with it_ , his brain supplied, but he stomped on that train of thought before it could gain a foothold. Moratorium thusly imposed, he burrowed back under the covers and let his eyes droop. He had things to do, in the morning.

\---

"…So what we've got, here, what we've _got_ , are some low level, low _mobility_ guys. They're tied down, with house payments, families, car loans, whatever. If they were going to run, they would have done so by now, but they're still in the area. We can afford to give it a few days," Nate decided, turning his head to examine Eliot, still standing by the door. "Give Sophie time to get back from New York, let Eliot rest up. Alec, you've got another couple of days to work on the third unknown."

"I'll be fine."

"Humor me." Turning briefly back to the group, he stated, "And this time, we're flying.  And Eliot?"  His eyes searched out Eliot, standing near the doorway as was becoming usual.

You don't look so good. You take your painkillers?"

"Yeah," Eliot grumbled, obviously annoyed.

"Okay," Nate raised his eyebrows. "You need to go home. Hardison, you about ready to go?"

"Yeah. Just let me pack my things, man. Three minutes."

"I'll be in the car," Eliot edged the door open and stepped out.

Nate waited a few moments, watching out the window, before asking, "Hardison. You know what that was all about? Why he wouldn't come in?"

"I don't know, man. Could be hyper-vigilance. Guarding the door or something." It was the closest he'd come to admitting his suspicions, and it was making him nervous. Nate, though, judging by the tilt of his head, had apparently been thinking along the same lines.

"He's not guarding the door," Parker interjected, shoveling more cereal into her mouth. "I think he's keeping his escape open." She finished chewing, swallowed, and added, "That's what I would do. If I was him."

Dreading the answer, Alec asked, "Nate, man. You think it's something we need to get into?"

"He's gonna hate that," Parker warned.

"I wouldn't. No. Not yet. Just. We'll keep an eye on it for now. See how it goes."

"I hate to bring it up, but. You seriously think we've got the time to wait? That no one's going to come around looking to tie up loose ends?"

"If they do, I'd rather it happened here."

"You're weird," Parker said, and as much as Alec would have liked to agree with her, he was suddenly certain that Eliot was down on the street, being forced into the back of a truck in broad daylight. He needed to get down there.

Alec hurried to shove the last of his things into his pack, and darted towards the door. "Parker, you need a lift?"

"No. I've got some stuff to go over with Nate," she ducked underneath the couch, dragging out a roll of blueprints.

"What're those for?"

"Security plans for Eliot's house."

"He doesn't _have_ a security system."

"Exactly. Want to have a good system in place before we tell him, though, so he won't be able to argue with us about it, so don't spoil the surprise."

Alec nodded from the doorway, looking between the two of them, and wondering whose idea it had originally been. He ran down the stairs and out the door, feeling relieved first, then foolish, when he saw Eliot sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, glaring at passing cars.

\---

Hardison was quiet the entire ride home, his mind apparently elsewhere, and for that, Eliot was thankful.

Because he was about seven seconds out from a massive freakout. He could keep a hold on it, though, until he was back home. Behind closed doors. Unfortunately, though, he wasn't sure if it was because he had that much control, or because he had no idea where to start.

It was rush hour, and the street outside Nate's building had been busy. True, it meant there were witnesses, but around sunset, people's vision was usually at it's worst. Including his own. He couldn't track them all, couldn't tell if he was actually being watched, or just paranoid, but the sensation had been there , ever since they left.

It had gone away, for the moment, but he suspected it would appear again by the time they pulled up his driveway. They'd been gone a long time. If someone had been watching the place, waiting, it would have been a good time to make a move. And he hadn't even thought about it until now.

He focused on it for the rest of the drive. It was the only thing he could really do to prepare if something _was_ actually going to go down, and it _definitely_ beat the alternative.

Nate's obvious _whatever that was_ , earlier. Talking like Sophie was actually part of the reason for delaying the trip to Pennsylvania. Like Hardison needed more time, when he clearly had the answers already. He'd been looking right at him when he'd decided, hadn't even made the effort to _pretend_ not to know.

 _Dead weight. Bad enough that you're useless, but now it's affecting the team. You're slowing them down_.

He tried not to think about it, tried to concentrate on the rest of the meeting. With the exception of Sophie, it was the first time they'd all been in the same room together. Back at Nate's place. It should have felt different.

He'd caught Hardison laughing at something Parker said, rummaging through Nate's kitchen drawers. Relaxed, like there was nothing hanging over him, like nothing in the world was wrong.

And it's not like the world wasn't the same normally screwed thing it had always been, but it wasn't one that Eliot had any chance of joining any time soon. He _wanted_ to, at least he was _supposed_ to want it, but he didn't now how, yet.

So he'd kept watch from a distance, and it had felt vaguely ridiculous, like he'd been spying on them through a window, but it had beat the alternative, being _in_ the room, _with_ the rest of them. Joining them like he had a reason to be there, and waiting for someone to realize he didn't. Bearing the brunt of their scrutiny as they assessed their newest charity case.

But he didn't have time for that now, he had to plan his approach. Hopefully, anyone waiting, poised for attack, was in his living room, or better yet, the kitchen. The gun was still stashed in the hallway. He'd get some of his own back, maybe. Scare the hell out of the others, probably, but he'd be fine.

When the house proved to be empty, he wasn't even relieved to find that all his planning had been for nothing.

\---

Eliot had been in such a shitty mood, after the meeting, that Alec hadn't expected to hear from him. And he hadn't, not until he was crawling into bed.

He'd wanted to know about bouncing his web mail to the laptop's mail client. Alec still wasn't sure exactly where it had gone after that, though he vaguely remembered browsing the web to find out if calls to tech support were listed anywhere as a PTSD diagnostic.

Mostly, he'd just rambled on, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, trying to guess when it would be, exactly, that Eliot got fed up enough to hang up on him.

Alec woke in the morning with the phone plastered to the side of his head, and had to plug it back into the charger to find out when it was, exactly, that he'd hung up. A little after one.

By noon, endeavoring to kill off a little more time, trying to shake off the weirdness of the call as he wandered through his apartment, he'd checked the mirror to find that the marks on his face had finally faded.

There was nothing more they could do until they actually landed in Pittsburgh, and if he didn't stop spinning his wheels, he'd end up in even more of a rut.

\---

He was buying a drink for Lisa's girlfriend, who had a birthday that night and a name that he couldn't remember, when a hand grasping his shoulder from behind almost made him drop his beer.

"Alec!" Ron had probably had a few, judging by his tone, which was even more jovial than usual. "Finally crawling out from under your rock, I see."

"Hey man, what's up?" He collected the drink, and nodded back to their table, inviting him along.

"Not much, just work. Getting the house ready for Lee's family, coming to visit. He's cleaning now, so I thought I'd get out of the way of the storm. Waiting for James to come down, gonna shoot some pool. Oh, and just so you know, when you see him. He didn't get the job at Intel, so don't say anything." Alec nodded, not having any idea what Ron was on about.

 _Been out of the loop longer than you thought, man_.

"Right on." Nothing substantial was said for a minute as the table erupted in _happy birthdays_ and _how've you beens_ , and Alec was about to start explaining to Lisa that Rose Tyler was alright, but she should really hold out for Martha Jones before declaring her undying allegiance, but Ron was leaning in again.

"So, Alec. What ever happened with, ah. Edward?"

He'd spent all day spinning his wheels and getting nowhere, but he was fast deciding that maybe it didn't sound so bad, by comparison. "You mean Eliot?"

"Him too. He the reason you've been missing in action?"

"After a fashion. Not like _that_ , though. Work stuff."

"Oh. So. _Like_ that, but twice as awkward, then."

 _You don't know the half of it_. He really didn't want to talk about it, because he hadn't thought about it, really. Much. Just a little bit.  
And it kind of sucked, but whatever.

Because yeah, and he knew he was being plastic, here, but Eliot was a good looking guy, when he wasn't walking around like he expected the ceiling to fall on him at any moment.

Wasn't just that, though. The guy was smart. Had a good head on his shoulders. Alec trusted him.

But he wasn't stupid enough to think that was enough.

The guy was in a screwed up place, for one. Probably would be, for a while. And while Alec had given it some thought, here and there, moving in on him was an epically bad idea.

For one, it seemed a little fucked to be thinking about Eliot like that when he was nowhere near being able to deal with it.

He would never claim to be an expert on the matter, but he missed the old Eliot. Not that they weren't the same person, but sometimes, like yesterday when he'd been lurking at the edges of the room, trying to blend into the woodwork, it was hard to be certain.

And it all really felt a little opportunistic, maybe forced, when he thought about it. He knew him. They were friends. And maybe it was convenient, but convenient didn't mean right. Didn't mean that he was Eliot's type, or that Eliot was his. If something _were_ to happen, it would only come out of some bizarre sense of duty. Alec didn't date much, but he wasn't _that_ hard up.

If life were a movie, it would be easy. They'd barely tolerate each other at first, move up to sniping, which, now that he stopped to think about it, wasn't that far off. Then tragedy would strike, revelations would be had, and they'd fall into bed before living happily forever after. The movies missed lots of little details.

Like how Eliot had been clearly weirded out about the mere _idea_ of being with a man, and _that_ had been before he'd been kidnapped and banged up and fucked with. Or how, as far as movie heroics went, Alec had been weak in the saving-the-day department. Even now, he was starting to hear that damned timer counting the seconds again.

So _what_ if the guy had nice hair, and the edges of his mouth were distracting? Details like those were hard to appreciate when worrying if Eliot was going to be able to make it up the _stairs_ without falling. If it was the painkillers that were sapping his appetite, or if it was some early symptom of pneumonia.

And if Eliot knew, if he ever found out Alec was thinking that way? It would be twice as pointless to even consider it.

How he was supposed to explain all that to Ron, he didn't even know. He was relieved beyond words when James arrived in a flurry of small talk to drag him towards to the pool tables.

Alec was left at the increasingly drunken table, with his attention was starting to slip, and the beer wasn't tasting as good as it had twenty minutes ago.

He forced himself to play along for a little while longer before rising to make his excuses, something he was getting better at, and say his goodbyes.

He'd barely made it out into the cold night when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He considered not answering. Not dealing. But he slapped a grin on his face, anyway.

"Eliot, my man! What's up?" He stepped aside to let a half dozen screaming women pass through the door. One of them had suckers attached to her shirt. A bachelorette party, then. Good a time as any to clear the hell out.

Apparently Eliot heard the shrieking. "Where are you?"

"Out," Alec answered, pulling a face. "Just leaving the bar." _You know, the one where you outed yourself? The one where I used to be able to go to get my mind off things? Yeah. That one_. Alec really wished he had anyone else's skill set. Parker at her _worst_ couldn't make this more uncomfortable.

"Oh." There was a pause on the line. Apparently, the awkwardness was infectious. "Well, I just had a computer thing, but it can wait. I'll let you get going. Um. Have a good night."

"Yeah, okay," and on any other day, he'd actually break down and find out why Eliot kept calling, because really, it was getting ridiculous, but his heart just wasn't in it. Not now. "Still on for tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Just finished packing. Anyway," Eliot repeated,"have a good night."

"You too."

\---

He'd slept for shit last night, and all the coffee he'd consumed that morning had worn out hours ago.

Eliot grit his teeth as he got himself situated, sitting by the window in first class, and forced himself not to snipe at Parker when she jostled his arm as she fastened her seatbelt.

He watched Nate's head disappear into the row ahead, and Sophie was across the aisle. She'd barely spoken all afternoon, and hadn't even looked in Nate's direction once. Even Parker, flipping through the SkyMall catalog at Eliot's side, was quiet, contained. No one had said much of anything, since they'd arrived at the gate, not really.

No one except Hardison, who was shoving his pack into the overhead bin and _still_ going on about the hand driers in the airport's restroom, being his usual obnoxiously energetic self. He wasn't even showing any signs of having a late night.

Not that Eliot was looking. It wasn't like he'd spent too many hours wondering if Hardison had gone home alone.

But he was starting to get _really_ fucking bored with the other topics open for consideration. The strap of the sling rubbing his skin raw, or the shoulder that made him useless. The length of time it took him to get up a flight of stairs. Never being warm enough, not with two pairs of socks on and three shirts. His kitchen, at night, having him jumping at shadows because there was probably still enough left of him to break if he didn't. The suspicion that Nate and the others saw it, too.

By comparison, the knowledge that Alec Hardison had a normal social life was fairly goddamned innocuous.

 _Ain't none of your business, man. Leave it be._

Yeah. Tell me how that's workin' for ya.

He really needed to focus. They were finally moving, the plane backing away from the terminal, and soon they'd be arriving, getting their game in gear.

Finally fucking _doing_ something.

He tried to be enthusiastic about the entire thing, and as long as he ignored the likelihood that he'd be doing nothing more than sitting on the sidelines, it worked.

He had another two weeks, probably, of fucking around with the sling. Of shoving ice packs on it every few hours, even though the swelling had already gone down, for the most part. With the ribs in the mix, it would be another month before he could actually start physical therapy. After that? _Still_ too fucking long before he was up to form.

As the plane turned down the runway, he took a breath and rolled his shoulder against the back of the seat, trying to will the blood to flow back into his arm, willing the slight numbness away. Took a deep breath, too, because he hadn't done that in a while, and held it as the plane gained speed.

\---

  
When he'd set up the reservations, it really hadn't seemed like it would be that big of a deal. But that was yesterday. Today, Alec took his time cleaning up, not wanting to go back into the room and find Eliot, eyes on the door, planning his escape. Kansas, all oer again.

He'd already showered, though, and brushed his teeth. Unless he wanted to shave, he was fast running out of justifiable delays.

Hurrying back into the room to stash his things, he to keep his eyes off Eliot, lying on the bed, still awake. His prescription bottles were on the nightstand, next to the remote and a root beer from the machine down the hall.

Running out of things to do, he grabbed his pack and hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. "Gonna head down. You coming?"

"Nah." Eliot brandished his new ice pack with a tired grin. "Think I'm just gonna see what's on TV. Order room service later if I decide to eat."

"A'ight, cool. Back in a bit."

\---

Alec was starting to lose steam. He'd been talking almost nonstop for nearly an hour, and had barely managed to eat any of his dinner before it had gotten cold. But he carried on.

"And last, but not least, I've just confirmed our best prospect. Name's John Warren, ex-Army, police academy washout, single, no kids, three cars. Warren, here," he continued, swiveling the laptop around so the others could see, "has his main gig with Crandall Security, they handle big events. Concerts and football games and fundraising galas, mostly. But about a month and a half ago, he started depositing cash amounts six times his usual paycheck. Fits the timeline perfectly."

Parker nodded. "So why are you just finding this now?"

"Had to wait for him to actually be logged into the HR system so I could confirm the match- there are thirteen John or Jonathan Warrens in the metro area. Went in this morning and tweaked the duty roster so he'd have to come back and fix it. His shift started about the time we got here, and he was fixing the error while we were ordering our drinks."

"That's cutting it a little close, isn't it?"

"Hey." Alec scowled in annoyance. "I had two _solid_ profiles on our other guys _days_ ago, but ya'll weren't ready to hear it. This one just took longer to confirm, but it's the best lead we've got. He was on the original list, but fell off the radar because he wasn't also on the unemployment list. When I overlaid the two maps, his address popped up smack-damn in the middle."

Sophie shook her head in confusion. "How do the maps figure in again?"

"Because if there's a physical location where they all met up, or a bulletin board at a _grocery_ store or something- you really want the details?"

"Ah," she smiled, biting her lip. "No, thank you."

"So we've got three suspects instead of one," Nate cut in before the conversation fell off the rails entirely. "Good work, Hardison."

Sophie nodded, but she still wasn't entirely sold. "All three probably know our faces. They know our reputations. They'll see us and run."

"Faster than bullets?" Parker offered, frowning in confusion at the looks that met her suggestion before turning back to her increasingly large pile of shredded napkin.

Nobody wanted to be the first to agree with her. No one wanted to be the first to disagree, either. Nate, when he spoke, looked reluctant. "Look. I know this isn't just another case, but we're not killing anyone." His measured gaze searched out each of theirs in turn. "Unless you have to," he muttered, downing more water.

Presentation over, he closed his laptop, finally got around to voicing his main concern. "We know he's going to recognize us, and that if they've done any preparation-"

"If they're at all prepared, if they know who we are, they'll be expecting us to come in sideways. Yeah." Nate frowned in satisfaction. "So we're going to take the front door. Throw him off, come at him in broad daylight." He nodded to himself for a minute, before asking. "So. We know where he's going to be working tomorrow night?"

Ten minutes later, assignments in hand, they paid the tab and made their way out of the restaurant. Parker left first, heading across the parking lot back towards the hotel, with Nate following behind, more slowly.

"Yo Sophie, hold up," Alec called, sliding the files into his pack, next to the laptop. From the expression she wore, it was clear that she was anticipating what he said next. "What's going on with you and Nate, anyhow?"

"Short version?"

"Yeah."

"He." She looked out the window after him. "It's silly. I stopped over at his apartment last week, and found him researching new clients. He began telling me about them, trying to figure out how we could get working on them, being as how we're a man down."

"Yeah?" Alec wasn't surprised, and tried to figure out where the problem was.

"I thought. And I know better, now, but it seemed to me at the time that he was giving up on Eliot. Just tossing it all aside."

"And now?"

"When I was in New York, I had some time to think it over. He needs things he can actually fix. He needs control. He wasn't in a position to obtain either, with Eliot's situation." Sophie smiled, self deprecatingly. "Because it's all been up to you, so far. The rest of us are just tagalongs."

"Not anymore, though. Soon as tomorrow night comes, it's on."

Sophie hummed her agreement, pushing through the doorway, and he had to hurry to keep up.

"So. Right. I get all that, but. What were you doing in New York? Why did you leave?"

"Because sometimes, Nate and I are more similar than I'd like to admit."

\---

Wired, like he always was when the plan had been set, Alec was disappointed to find the room dark when he returned.

It was still too early to sleep, though apparently Eliot was of a different mind. As wired as he was, he'd only end up staring at the ceiling, nodding along to the ticking in his head.  And he _really_ needed to do something about the lethargy that hadn't let up since they'd landed.

Hauling his pack into the bathroom, he closed the door before turning on the light and changing into his swim trunks. Pulling the track pants up over them, he shoved the key into the pocket and grabbed a towel from the rack, before sliding out of the room and down the hall towards the stairs.

He still had an hour or so before the pool was closed down for the night. Down at the other end, kids were shrieking, splashing around. Their parents shot him apologetic glances, in between trying to snap photos of the melee.

He hadn't been swimming in a few months, but after diving in, and a few awkward strokes, he found the right rhythm. He tried, for the first few laps, to match the beat in his head, but he couldn't keep up. A few more, and the timing of his own pace was starting to take over, moving in and replacing it.

 _Finally_.

He swam until his eyes began to sting, but by that point, he was probably tired enough to get upstairs and get some sleep.

Stepping out of the water, he heard the door closing, down by the other end of the pool, and scanned the room to find that he was the last one out, and the only one in his head.

He took his time drying off, and didn't hurry back to the room.

\---

The burger that room service had sent up was dry, and the potatoes on the side were watery, but Eliot finished them. Actually felt good, afterwards, a little more awake. But the idiotic documentary on Shaolin fighting was starting to grate on him.

Hardison still hadn't come back. It had only been an hour, or so, but Eliot was starting to think that maybe he should have gone down, listened to the plan, whatever it was. Even if he was sidelined on this one, he could still probably contribute in the idea stage.

But he didn't even know where they'd gone, and he'd probably missed them, anyway, and it was starting to make him nervous.

Shutting off the lights as he checked his pocket again for the key, he began wandering down towards the lounge. Maybe they'd be down there. If not, at least he wouldn't be stuck sitting in his room listening to armchair warriors arguing about things they knew nothing about.

The wood-paneled, pseudo-Irish-Pub style lounge wasn't empty, but the team was nowhere to be found.

 _Must've gone out, then_.

He sat down at the bar, drinking decaf and allowing himself a certain amount of amusement at the wary looks the other patrons were giving him.

"What the hell happened to you?" The bartender, a lanky girl with highlights or whatever in her hair, asked as she refilled his cup.

"Rodeo accident," he drawled. "You know how it goes."

"The hell I do," she replied, smiling, but that was the end of it, and he was relieved to slip from her attention as she turned back to the TV in the corner.

A while later, after he paid the two dollar tab, he headed towards the elevators, intent on making it into bed before he fell asleep on his feet. Further down, at the end of the hall, Hardison was going ducking around the corner, with a towel slung over his shoulder.

It wasn't until the humid chlorine hit his nose that it occurred to him that he'd had no reason to follow him towards the pool.

Standing there, though, he decided that for the moment, he didn't have much reason to leave.

Hardison was a better swimmer than he would have expected, and Eliot wracked his brain, trying to remember if that was something he already knew, but drawing a blank. Instead, he watched Hardison cut across the pool and back again, and tracked the water streaming over his skin when he turned at the end of the lane.

Stepping aside to allow three dripping wet kids and two suburbanite parents trudge by, it took him a few seconds to realize why they'd looked at him funny as they passed.

It wasn't too likely he was in there to swim, after all.

 _Screw 'em_.

Not wanting to risk being caught in the same elevator as the Cleavers, he watched Hardison slide towards the end of another lap, and leaned against the door until it let him through.  



	13. Chapter 13

_They clambered over rebar and concrete and broken computers, towards the slash of blue sky cutting through the cracked foundation, brushing dust from their sleeves._

Watching them go, Eliot was still, solid and frozen. A stone in the rubble, with nothing but shadows and creaking aftershocks for company. Not even suffocating anymore, not even breathing.

Stone wasn't supposed to hurt. Wasn't supposed to feel anything at all.

Blinking awake, Eliot inhaled deeply, his lungs scraping the air in until they were overfull. Hurt like a bitch, and it felt like a dull knife was carving a new swatch into the muscle below his shoulder, but he was awake now.

He waited it out, counting the seconds in his head, and tried not to move. If he'd been thrashing in his sleep, Hardison was probably awake already, even if he wasn't saying anything.

Once the worst of it had receded enough to will his limbs into action, he reached for the painkillers on the nightstand, casting his eyes towards the other bed in the process.

It had been years since he'd woken up in a room while someone else was still sleeping.

It had been a deliberate decision, once, after he'd hit the woman sharing his hotel bed in the face. It had bruised something awful, and three days back from Bosnia, he'd realized, with a dim sort of resignation, that this was how half the bad stories in the papers probably started out. She never called, and neither did he.

A few months later, sleeping alone had become habit, something he only thought about when walking that night's woman to the door, but a few years later, he'd even stopped thinking about it.

By that point, it just made sense that a guy in his line of work shouldn't let his guard down.

It was three in the morning and the painkillers were starting to set his head swimming. Hardison was in the other bed, and more importantly, _still asleep_. And maybe it wasn't the big deal that it should've been after all, but Eliot was too tired to think.

So he shut his eyes, and went back to sleep.

\---

Alec was positive that every move he made, every footstep towards the bathroom and back, every keystroke was going to wake Eliot. But so far, even the sharp hiss of the soda bottle had failed to disturb him.

He kept his fingers tight on the cap, holding it still, and watched the pile of blankets for signs of movement.

Then he was just watching Eliot. Reveling in the fact that some things really looked a whole lot better when they weren't on a screen.

He'd dreamt before he'd woken, and the details were gone, but Eliot had been in there, somewhere, decontextualized now. He didn't know if it had been a good dream or a nightmare, but it left him feeling a little uneasy to find that his brain had taken the liberty.   
To be that voyeuristic, to assume that much.

So he took a deep breath, unscrewed the bottle cap carefully, and tried to focus.

He had to set up access into the convention center security feeds. Check in with the others, find out what they'd need to have straight. Test the comms unit. Talk to Nate about whatever other details were still pending. Get over and set up the computers, get the

It could all wait, a little longer. There was something he needed to check, first.

He swiveled in his chair. Started a file transfer from his home server and waited a few minutes as it loaded. With a final glance in Eliot's direction, he opened the alert that had popped up in his system.

Mikel Dayan had gotten pinged going through Heathrow airport.

\---

There was a groan, and Eliot was clambering out of bed, nodding at Alec as he headed towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, the shower was running.

Backtracking, it turned out that Dayan had been in Canada the entire time.

All this shit had been going down, and she'd been visiting _family_. Probably even helped out with her niece's ninth birthday party. Who the hell knew, maybe she'd helped bake the cake and everything.

Calculating the date in his head, Mikel's niece turned nine on the same day that Eliot was beat so fucking badly he hadn't gotten up again.

Feeling a little sick, and wanting to launch his laptop right through the window, he grabbed the first distraction he could find, listening to the squeak of the dial and the throbbing of water stopped dead in the tracks, nowhere to go, as the shower was shut off. Eliot was moving around in there, but he wasn't coming out yet.

By the time Eliot was brushing his teeth, he'd found her again. At this exact moment in time, she was waiting in a terminal for her flight to Johannesburg to begin boarding.

He was probably going to lose her three minutes after she arrived, but maybe he'd luck into something. Head her off at the pass, before she gained too much ground to ghost out.

Checking every hotel he could find, every news story and rumor, he tried to draw up a predictive model of where she'd most likely go. But he kept getting derailed, thinking about her family in Toronto and some strange kid's birthday party.

"What's going on?" Eliot came out of the bathroom, cap pulled low, but only wearing _two_ sweatshirts this time. Now that Alec thought about it, the water had probably been off for thirty minutes or more.

"Not much. They're serving breakfast downstairs for, like, another hour if you don't want room service."

"Yeah," He squinted over Alec's shoulder, saw the profile up on the screen for the first time. "Shit. Tell me that isn't what I think it is."

"Dayan's getting on a plane for Johannesburg, and the trail's probably going to go cold, but. You know. I've been thinking. We could talk to her brother-"

"No, Hardison. We're not going near her family."

Eliot's sharp tone was startling enough that Alec stopped, mid keystroke. "What, that some sort of hitter's code?"

"No," Eliot snorted with derision. "Say she finds out. How's that gonna play out?"

He hadn't thought about that, to be honest. "Not good." Hardison sighed. Of course Eliot was going to be a hard sell. "But she's a direct line to whoever's behind all this, and you _know_ it."

"We've already got the guards, right? Trust me, dealing with ten moonlighters is better than one pissed off Mikel _Dayan_ , I promise."

"Right. Right," he exited the profile, and folded the laptop closed, trying not to let on how frustrated he was getting.

"Hardison. Seriously." Eliot took another step into his space, and for the first time since he'd come back, it felt deliberate. He was forcing Alec to look at him, and for a moment, there, his eyes were steady and serious. "I get that it sucks, but don't even... She finds out we're fucking with her family, she'll be on us like a bloodhound. Ain't worth it."

\---   
_  
"Have you found him?"_

"I've been monitoring his apartment, and his usual haunts. He's not home, but he's got the lights on a timer. They come on every evening at around quarter past seven, though I assume he's got more of a security system than that."

"He'll return. Wait for him."  


\---

 _Stupid fucking idiot_.

By the time Eliot made it downstairs, breakfast wasn't sounding at all appealing. The suspicion that Alec was up in the room, ignoring everything he'd just said, was sapping his appetite.

He made himself sit down at a table in the back of the room, and picked at his eggs, trying to pay attention to the weather report droning on the screen in the corner.

It wasn't too hard to figure out how he'd gotten to thinking about it, but he wished it could have waited a few moments more before making itself known, because choking on dry toast and coughing hurt like a bitch these days.

Didn't matter. His appetite had barely been there to begin with.

\---

Hardison jumped when he opened the door, probably not expecting him back so soon, and definitely not expecting him to look so pissed off.

"What the-"

"Did you call my sister?"

"What?" Hardison cocked his head, scowling as he tried to catch up. " _No_ ," he stated forcefully.

"You sure?"

"Hell _yeah_ I'm sure. I was _going_ to, if you gotta know, but Nate warned me off." Hardison looked irritated enough that he was probably telling the truth.

"Good." It was all he needed to hear, so he let the matter drop, going for his bag, considering his options. If he wanted to pull on another shirt, he'd have to take the sling off.

"Hold up." Hardison's voice was quiet, like he was talking to himself, but Eliot looked anyway. Wishing he hadn't, a moment later. "You mean to tell me that you haven't talked to your sister since you got back?"

"She never knew I was gone, unless _you_ told her."

"I didn't, and. That ain't the point. You should let her know you're okay."

"She doesn't need to know about any of it. Not the job in Kansas, not the fucked up shit in the warehouse, not the hospital. Got that?" Hardison was winding up to complain again, otherwise Eliot wouldn't have continued. "Listen. It's cool. I stay out of her way and she stays out of mine, as much as possible. We ain't exactly tight, don't need her knowing my business."

"Why not?" _Of course he'd fucking ask_.

There wasn't any sense in going into the cracks that had started showing mere days after the Oklahoma City bombing. Dad's funeral hadn't been the breaking point, anyway. And really, there wasn't much sense in telling him, either.

But if he didn't hear it from him, he'd probably just search it out as soon as he got the chance.

"Was when I was first starting out, you know? Came home for Christmas one year, brought a tail with me. Wound up having to move her and my nephew before New Year's. Get them new identities. She didn't take too kindly to that."

"Yeah, sure. But, they're your family."

"Damn right. You think I'm going to set them up for all of that again, you're fucking crazy."

"She know what you do?"

There was no way Eliot was going there. "Your family know what _you_ do?"

Hardison snorted and shook his head, scratching at his arm. "Nah. Mama wouldn't get it, and Nana wouldn't get _over_ it." Hardison's forehead creased as he examined a hangnail on his thumb. "If my brother was alive, though? I'da told him. He would've gotten a kick out of it like you wouldn't believe."

Eliot nodded in response, to stop himself from asking more than anything else. He hadn't known Hardison had a brother. Just never came up, they didn't talk like that. And right now, the way he was staring at nothing, it didn't look like Hardison was up for talking at _all_. He grinned, but it went away too soon, and his attention never left his thumb.

Hardison wasn't supposed to get like this. He was supposed to be the one that let the bad shit roll off. It wasn't supposed to stick.

Eliot tried to think. Looked back at the computer and tried to find something to get him talking again.

"So what's the plan?"

True to form, Hardison dove right in, like a switch had been flipped. "We're gonna meet up at five. Office building across the street from the convention center. Don't know what Nate's got in mind for the playbook, but here's the deal…"

\---

Alec spent the afternoon hacking into the convention center security systems and setting up the workspace on his laptops. He checked to make sure their names were on the conventions registration list. Parker stopped by with some keys to the space, but didn't stay, grumbling something about going shopping with Nate and Sophie as she disappeared again.

Eliot mostly lay in bed, reading, but every hour or so, he'd get bored enough to get up, stretch, and come over to look over Alec's shoulder and complain that he had nothing to do. There wasn’t much Alec could do in that department, and he tried, he really did. Every time, though, he came up blank, and Eliot returned to his book.

Eliot left five minutes after Sophie called, pinning Alec to the phone with questions about what the other convention goers were wearing. There wasn't much he could figure out from the parking lot below, so he was looking up salaries online, trying to give her some sort of baseline for selecting their eveningwear. She was still talking when Eliot returned, smirking.

"She talk you into going for manicures yet?" Eliot shook his head. "Hang on, she's asking _you_ for fashion advice?"

"Sophie, I got to go. I think I heard Eliot fall in the shower. Yeah, I'm sure he'd like it if you stopped by when y'all get in to check on him." He hung up the phone to see Eliot sneering at him as he held out a paper bag.

"I'm gonna kick your ass for that, you know."

Alec pulled out a sandwich and some chips, but it was the brownie that _really_ undermined the threat. "Thanks, man."

\---

"If this doesn't work. You know. We've still got two guards we can talk to," Nate was saying to Parker, adjusting his tie in the window's reflection.

She was unimpressed, or maybe Sophie was pulling her hair too tightly as she swept it up to style. "So why are we going after this one?"

"He got paid more than the others, which probably means he knows more. And he's the best bet. According to his wife, Martinez is out hunting with his brother all weekend. Tomlinson's got a day job working nights at the children's hospital, so if we want to track either of them, we're going to have to wait."

Parker tried to nod her understanding, but Sophie _tsked_ her, working the last of the hairpins in.

Hardison was over at the desk, doing whatever it was he needed to be doing with the computers.

Eliot watched all this from his post next to the door, trying to remember what it was to get caught up in the anticipation, but he couldn't feel it from there. The day had been too long already. All their movement and commotion, all their chatter over takeout was making him twitchy instead of energized, distracted instead of focused.

Other than the glaringly obvious, he hadn't been able to find a hole in Nate's strategy, earlier, though he kept it turning in his head, considering the angles, because there wasn't much else he could do. The others were handling everything.

They were taking care of this for him, and he knew he should have felt grateful, thankful, _something_ , but really, they were going off to fight _his_ battle, and try as he might, nothing about this entire damned _life_ was sitting right anymore.

He checked his watch again, and waited for them to leave.

Eventually, eight thirty rolled around, and with purses and suitcases in hand, they did.

\---

"What's with that, anyway?" Hardison asked, as soon as the others had gone.

"What?"

"Do we smell or something?"

A confused scowl was answer enough, because he'd elaborate if needed, but Hardison was distracted, anyway, sliding his earpiece in. Apparently, though, something was still bothering him.

"Seriously, man. You gonna stand there all night or come over here and help out?"

"Help with what?" Eliot grumbled, crossing the floor for the first time, not really sure why he had the dim suspicion that he'd just been caught at something.

"Seriously? Were you not paying _any_ attention at all? Here." Hardison picked something off the table and waved him over. It wasn't until he was reaching out for it that he realized it was a comm. unit.

It was weightless in his hand, but something about it felt heavy, as he backed away, heading towards the door, as if his body had decided that now that he was equipped, he was supposed to move.

The moment he realized it, he stopped, and decided that the window closest to the door was an acceptable destination anyway. Keeping his eyes on the glass, he watched Hardison, listened as he tapped a few keys, and noted the bright red _MUTE_ flashing on one of the monitors, reflected backwards on the glass. He didn't turn when Hardison began to speak.

"Look. Once they get to the reception, they're splitting up. Nate and Sophie are goin' after Warren. Parker's gonna cause a distraction and tail him if it goes all to hell. The only protection they've got is that Warren won't do anything stupid in front of eleven hundred witnesses, but that many people means Parker might not be able to maintain line of sight the entire time."

"Yeah. But. Ain't like I can actually do anything."

"You can be another set of eyes. Something hinky goes down, you can advise." Eliot worked the earpiece into place, but stood his ground. "And now you know how _I_ feel, every time y'all go out troublemakin'."

Before he could respond, Hardison tapped at the keyboard again, and he could hear everything, the almost-there sounds of cars driving by, Nate humming to himself as he walked down the block to the entrance, Parker complaining that they were overdressed.

He could hear them breathing, and if he wanted to go and look over Hardison's shoulder, he'd see everything too.

Hardison didn't say anything when he pulled a chair around next to him and sat down in front of the screens. "Okay. I got Parker. You got Nate and Sophie. How do I switch cameras?"

By the time Nate's voice came over the comms, saying that they were heading inside, they were already in the room, seeing everything. They watched them step inside, waited with them as they signed in at the registration table for their name badges.

Even from here, they could catch Nate's slight nod before they split. He and Sophie went left, and Parker tilted her head to glance sidelong to wink at the camera as she went right.

\---

Next to him, Eliot was intent on his screens, tracking Parker as she wove her way through the crowd.

"Power box is down the stairs past the bathrooms, right?" Over the comms, her voice was muffled, the way it usually was when she was trying to speak without moving her mouth.

"Yeah. I've disabled the security, but you'll still need to pick the lock," Hardison confirmed. Glancing over quickly, he could see that Eliot was managing to bring all the cameras up with no problem.

"There are some caterers three halls away, but it looks like security's upstairs," Eliot added.

Nate and Sophie weren't making the same progress. There were probably six or seven hundred people milling around the catering tables and the cash bar already, and the number was rising quickly.

Nate came on next, as Sophie began making small talk with some strangers by the buffet. "Hardison, you got him?"

"Nothing yet, I can't really tell from here. The resolution on the cameras inside the hall itself isn't the best, think they were more concerned with monitoring the entrance and exits, but if he pops up, I'll let you know."

By the time they were meandering clockwise near the outer edges of the room, Parker was apparently finished. "I've got the patch in place."

"You go, girl," Hardison pulled out his phone, tapped a few screens and waited for the signal. "All right. I'm sending the switch code to your phone now. You see anything you don't like, or you hear us yelling, just press send and it's the night the lights went out in Georgia all over again."

"But we're in Pennsylvania," Parker hissed, and Eliot snorted. Alec didn't have to look to know that he was rolling his eyes.

"You know we _really_ don't want it going down like it did in the song, right?"

 _Been snippy all day. Must be feeling better_. "I was just talking about the lights-"

"Whatever, man."

"Hey, I've _seen_ Reservoir Dogs a million times, ain't like I don't know-"

"I see him. Back of the room, across from the stage." Nate's voice said, and everyone else went silent.

\---

It was taking everything Eliot had not to take his eyes off Parker, because he knew that on the monitor next to his, inches away, Hardison was watching Sophie and Nate approaching John Warren.

One of the guards. He didn't know which injuries the man had claimed, if it was the shoulder, the ribs, the kicks to the kidney, the elbow to the temple, or one of the others, but there were enough to go around, and he'd gotten his shots in.

And, if this went down the way he was starting to really fear that it would, the others might be moments away from the same treatment.

Apparently, they'd had reached him. Nate went first. "You know who we are, I presume?

Something was said, but in the din of the room, it was hard to make out. Hardison was switching to another keyboard and typing furiously, and Eliot glanced over to his monitor. There were too many people in the shot to find the ones he was looking for. Frustrated, he turned back to see Parker at the edge of the crowd, holding her phone up to her ear to cover for the fact that she was standing still and tense.

"You could try that, yeah. Not without incriminating yourself, but yeah. Go ahead."

"And just imagine the stories we'll have to tell, should they arrive," Sophie interjected, and even over the comms, her voice was chilling. "And the evidence we have to back it up."

"You're bluffing," a man's voice accused. Apparently, Hardison had managed to tweak the comms.

"Ah yeah," Nate snorted. "There was enough for us to find you, wasn't there?" Clearing his throat, he continued. "Hang on, hang on. We're not actually here looking for you. We know you were paid. It was your job, but you weren't pulling the strings on this one. You're in over your head, and we're not interested in the errand boy. We want your boss."

"Tough shit."

There was no way this was going to work. Warren just sounded too meatheaded and stubborn to play along. They should have put this off a little longer. If Eliot were in better shape, he'd have no trouble getting Warren talking. Idle threats weren't going to get them anywhere.

And there was something not right about hearing so much venom in Sophie's tone. "We know where you live. And where your wife works. And where Jenny goes to school. And I don't at all care what you know about us. The only thing you _need_ to know is that we are _not_ happy."

"Whatever, look. I've got work to do. Go waste someone else's time."

"You helped torture a man," Nate said, voice smooth. "And you were paid heavily to do so. Very heavily. More than the others. This tells us not only that you are willing to be bought, but that you are willing to, ah, negotiate."

"Yeah. Right," Warren scoffed.

"He's opening the briefcase," Hardison said, and Eliot could just make out the displeasure flashing across Parker's face. She'd been the only one siding with him when he'd argued against Sophie putting up her own money to buy Warren off. They'd both been voted down, since there wasn't enough time to set up an alternate revenue stream.

Sophie was talking. "I think it would be best for you if you quickly came to understand just how serious we are. You can have the money. Or you can say no, and see if you can make it back home before your family finds themselves in a situation not dissimilar to our man's."

It was disgusting to hear them talking like this. It wasn't that they'd never screwed with people before, but this?

It felt like they were sinking down to levels Eliot _himself_ hadn't sunk to in years.

He was dimly aware that Hardison announced that they were moving to the side entrance opposite Parker.

Eliot wrenched his eyes shut for a second, before remembering that he was supposed to be watching Parker, and he really just wished that someone would _say_ something, already.

A few too many heartbeats, and Warren did. Parker was starting to move across the floor, and Eliot followed, tapping over to a different camera to see them all in the same shot. For the first time, Eliot was looking at John Warren's face.

It meant nothing to him, and he knew that he should have been expecting it, but he wasn't ready for the shocked disappointment washing over him.

"Can't tell you what I don't know. But. Called the number in the ad and this guy says he's got some work. Said he was on retainer with the UN. That's the, uh. United Nations," Warren explained. "Sounded off at first, the way he was explaining why it couldn't be handled through the usual methods. I made him show me the warrants and extradition papers, and they were solid enough. Wasn't until later that it became apparent that something else was going on, but by that point, we'd be going down with him."

Nate placed the suitcase down on the floor, kicking it underneath the tablecloth. "Tell us about Nicola."

"Um. Older guy, probably in his fifties or sixties, short gray hair, clean cut. Had a little bit of an accent, like he'd spent a lot of time in China or something."

"Have you spoken to him recently?" Sophie sounded unimpressed, but Eliot couldn't think about that right now, he was trying to concentrate.

 _Nicola_.

Lacking the flash of recognition, hearing the name was more anticlimactic than he'd been expecting. _Shit_. For all he knew, it was an alias.

"Did he tell you anything else? About why he needed Spencer locked up?"

"Only that it was a matter of national security."

"Did he ever flash a badge?"

"If he did, I'd have his full name, wouldn't I?" It was almost comedic, to see John Warren's large frame backed into a corner by Sophie. Eliot would have laughed at the sight of it, wanted to crow at the panicked expression he could make out on Warren's face, but there was still ample time for things to get worse. He needed to be ready, even if there wasn't anything he could do.

"That's all I know, I'm serious. I would have gotten out of there but by the time I found out everything, I was stuck. That's all. You. Look, my daughter-"

"We're square. Long as we don't find out that you've been lying to us, you and your family will never hear from us again. If, ah. If we find out otherwise, it's another story entirely, so if there's anything else?"

Warren nodded dumbly.

"Then we should take our leave," Sophie said, inclining her head forward before turning on her heel to head out through the front. Parker was already sliding through the crowd ahead of her, and Nate followed, turning once to look back in Warren's direction before carrying on.

Eliot hadn't seen his face, and because he'd had to switch cameras, hadn't seen Warren's, either. He didn't even know if it he was still standing where they'd left him.

\---

"Hardison? You've got trace running on all his phones?"

Ducking to confirm, Alec then shook his head. "He hasn't made any calls, but when he does, we'll know. Also got a line into the GPS on his car."

"Okay. Eliot? You catch everything that was said?" Nate already knew the answer, because otherwise Eliot probably would have said something, but someone had to ask.

"Nicola's gotta be an alias."

"So, the ringleader's as much of a mystery as our friend in the photos, then." Nate nodded to himself, regarding the door.

It was Parker who confirmed what they were all thinking. "So we wasted money and have nothing to show for it, then?"

Nate shrugged. "Not until he picks up the phone."

" _If_ he picks up the phone. Think you scared him silent, man. Shook him up too much for him to think. Probably would have come up with something if y'all hadn't gone so over the top."

Alec thought he must have missed something, because all of a sudden, everyone in the room seemed like they were about to go off. Eliot was pissed about the way they'd played it, Sophie was insulted by his anger, Parker was mad about money changing hands, even though it wasn't hers, and Nate looked like he wanted to throttle all of them.

They'd tracked him. Got a tracker in his phone. If he called, and yeah, it was fifty-fifty on that one, they'd have a direct line to Nicola.

"Hey, guys? _Guys_." He waved his arm, tried not to shrink away from the glares they unleashed. "Even if it _is_ an alias, it might have seen some field time. And did you _hear_ the man talking about the warrants?"

"Yes," Nate said, "but if they weren't entirely fake, they were shown under false pretenses."

"What do you mean?"

There was a beat before he answered. "If Nicola was looking to collect on the rewards, he would have handled it already. If he was really concerned with throwing Eliot in prison, he either would have had a case for extradition, or been trying to get him out of the country as soon as possible, not screwing up his case by." He broke off, deliberately not looking in Eliot's direction. "He would have put a lot of work into nothing, so we have to assume that this has nothing to do with anything official."

"So all this was just a huge waste of time," Parker said, packing up the last of the takeout containers and dumping them into the garbage bag Sophie held open.

" _Enough_ of this," Alec almost shouted, snorting sharply. "Y'all ain't seein' it. Look. Even if the papers were shown under false pretenses, they would've had to pass at least a cursory inspection. Because of dovetailing roles with law enforcement, companies like Crandall train their guards in this sort of thing. Warren might not be too bright, but he knows what he was talking about."

"Doesn't mean they weren't fake," Sophie pointed out

"Doesn't mean they _were_ , neither, and if fake papers and fake names are all we've got, if we throw them out, we got nothing. I'm gonna look into it," he confirmed, daring the others to argue. Nate said nothing, and that was agreement enough, so he was careful to keep his hackles down when he continued. "All right. Here. Monitoring's already up and running on the other two guards. How we gonna handle them?"

Nate examined their tired faces, each in turn, before deciding. "We pick it up in the morning. For now, let's just clear out, get back to the hotel."

\---

"Hey," Eliot leaned on the side of the bathroom doorway, ice pack freezing through his fingers as it melted in his hand, but he didn't go so far as to enter the room. Hardison was calmer now, but that was because he'd had his eyes glued to his screen for the past half hour, no doubt digging up every single thing Eliot had wanted to keep hidden.

"Hey," Hardison looked up for a fraction of a second, and looked away even faster.

Avoiding him. Non-confrontational. Wary and distrustful.

It was the same tell that had once clued him in, sent him on his way, seconds before Nate Ford, of IYS, called in his backup. Eliot hadn't stopped running until he'd made it out of Spain.

It was the same look he'd gotten from Aimee the last time he'd gone home, as she was putting the breakfast dishes away. By dinnertime, he'd left again.

It was the same look his sister'd given him Christmas evening, once her son was up in bed and the police were finally gone. Once she'd already heard his end of several hushed telephone conversations about _hiding_ and _identification_ and _how soon_. Before she'd really understood that her life, as she knew it, was over, but after she'd arrived at the conclusion that she didn't know him anymore. Didn't even _want_ to.

Hardison didn't wear the expression all that differently.

 _This is gonna hurt like hell_.

"I know that look. Means you found something you didn't want to find," His shoulders slumped just a fraction, sending fresh shoots of pain down into his chest and arm, but he was too tired to hide it. "About me." This time, he had the feeling that Alec would be the one to leave. This is it.

"Found some stuff, yeah." Hardison still wouldn't make eye contact, too intent on the screen, and too angry. He spoke mechanically, deliberately, like he was rehearsing the lines in his head before letting them out. "And I'm sure you had your reasons, so it's cool. Don't worry about it."

Yeah, it's so cool that you won't even look at me.

"Fine," he said, wishing he didn't know why the dread was coiling so tightly in his gut. He could feel something tearing in his chest, but forced himself not to check for blood. "But tell me what it is."

\---

 _Which one_? he almost asked, because there'd been so much, but this was not the time for sarcasm.

Swiveling his head back to the computer, though he had the information memorized, he took a moment to reconsider his hunch, then went with it.

"Right. So. Myanmar." He didn't want to see the expression Eliot would be wearing. Didn't even want to be having this conversation in the first place, but the file was on the screen, bright and glaring, like it had been trapped inside for thousands of years, waiting to be released. Taking one final breath to clear his head, he asked the question. "What happened?"

"I was sent in to retrieve two political prisoners," Eliot began, clearly not wanting to. "North of Dawei, there was this town, village, whatever. Found the one that was still alive. Things got messy. Someone alerted the guards, and we wound up running through a market. People everywhere. The guards shot first, and I could barely return fire with all the running and screaming. The prisoner got tagged and went down. I fired three times, one went wide 'cause I got jostled by some kids that were trying to get out of there." There was a pause, and Alec had already seen the reports. He knew how this was going to end. "The other two shots went where they were supposed to."

Eliot fell silent, frozen in the doorway, and it was fucked, everything was so out of control that there wasn't supposed to be any stillness _left_ in the world, not with everything flying too fast through his head right then. It felt a little too much like the universe was spinning out from under him and he couldn't catch up.

"Then what happened?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Eliot sit down on the bed, his good hand coming up to rub at his neck, but his voice was steady when he answered.

"Contacted my handler at the embassy. I hadn't been in contact for over a month, and didn't know." Eliot laughed without humor. "A policy thing in Washington had shaken everything up and the orders had changed. I cleared the hell out, got to Thailand before it could all come down." Eliot sounded like he was filing a report, not gloating. His voice was too dead for that. "Next thing you know, there's a price on your head and the government claims no knowledge. My line of work, you know. It happens."

Eliot was their hitter, but he'd been other things to other people before. He'd known so, in a general sense, but now he _got_ it. He really did.

Alec had seen the rumors, found hints to assignments that weren't supposed to exist, but they'd all been oblique references. Code names on a scanned piece of paper somewhere. Nothing about them had been real.

He needed a minute to think. Figure this thing out. He needed to _not_ get distracted by the other files he'd found, because right now, if he was honest, he couldn't deal with seeing the evidence that this was as bad as it got.

\---

Any minute now, Hardison was going to flip the hell out. He'd call Nate, talk to the others. He could already see the look on Nate's face, tried not to picture Parker and Sophie wearing that same disappointment.

His time was nearly up, here. Soon, he'd have to go his own way. He'd known that someday, this would happen, that this would all end, but he hadn't expected it to be his fault. That it would come from the others knowing exactly what he was capable of, what he'd done and who he'd been, and the fear that knowledge would bring.

He'd known, since way back when, in the then-new office, when he'd admitted "I actually hurt people, so…" that they'd put their blinders on, never asked, never wanted to know, and he couldn't blame them.

Nate was an honest man, in his way, if ruthless. Sophie wanted to steal herself a better life, and Parker stole to live, like breathing. And Hardison? He wanted to know everything in the whole damn world, but even he'd never wanted to know _that_.

They'd never asked, and he'd never told.

He'd been happy to let them believe that it had all been chokeholds and kicks and the odd concussion, here and there, but he'd known it was a lie, and years of becoming someone other than the man he'd had to be, way back when, didn't change that.

 _You don't con your own crew_.

But it would change everything, now. He'd killed, more than once, and there was no denying it. It wasn't something he was proud of, but he'd made his peace with it, more or less. The others, _none_ of the others had ever gone there, and they could do a lot of things, but they wouldn't get it.

They'd want to trust him, and they'd try to. Even Nate, who'd chased him, who'd known his reputation, had never had all the facts. Parker would be skittish, and Sophie would pretend to bury it, and Hardison would get curious. He'd only start digging up _more_ , until there was nothing left worth hiding.

And if the cracks started showing while they were on the job? If Sophie didn't move on his signal, if Parker spooked and went solo, if Hardison decided that he was tired of being an accessory after the fact and forgot to warn Eliot about the guns waiting in the next hallway, it would destroy all of them.

Even if Nate had to see this all coming, closed it down and broke up the crew, the results wouldn't be much different.

He had to leave before he brought them down with him.

It was fine. He'd done it before, and he'd survived, even if only because he was too far away from the fallout to get burned.

And it was funny without being funny at all, because the others talked about it sometimes, how they were family. Eliot wondered where he'd gone so fucking wrong that he couldn't even recognize it until he was on his way out.

If he played it right this time, though, maybe he could do it without fucking them over. If Hardison would just give him some indication of what he was thinking, somewhere to start from, he could figure out how to leave them intact when he left.

He really fucking wished Hardison would say something. It was a little fucked, waiting to follow someone else's lead just so he could walk out the door.

\---

 _What the hell do you say to that?_

Taking what he hoped was a silent breath, Alec slid the laptop away and stood. Eliot was staring at the curtained window, but there was no way to tell if he was actually seeing it, the cell, or the trajectory Alec's body would take as he fell.

 _Stop it. That ain't fair. Nothing's changed_.

He sat down on the bed, next to him, and pulled his thoughts together, waiting for Eliot to show some sign of life, to stop this entire catatonic act.

But this had to fucking stop. They were both being ridiculous.

"That's messed up. Dunno what to say, man. You hungry?" As wise words went, it fell a little flat, even to his own ears.

Eliot hung his head, but he was smiling, already, even if he didn't want it seen.

"Nah. I'm good," he said, after a minute.

"Okay. Cool." Hardison stared at the floor too. Hadn't realized how ugly the carpeting was, until now. "Seriously, though. Don't freak out over this." Eliot wasn't convinced, but Alec wasn't convinced he didn't _want_ to be. "Now that I know where to look for leads, we'll get it sorted."

"And what then? Do I just go in, get a little revenge? Kill someone new?"

It was too soon to even think about going there. "I don't know," was his measured response, and it was true. He hadn't really thought about it, didn't even have the energy to start. "Ain't gotta figure it out right now, though."

Finally, Eliot nodded. Raised his head up, and stared at the curtains for a while, like he was thinking. Seemed like something worth doing, so Alec joined him.

After some interminable minutes, the only thing he'd learned was that the curtains were damned ugly. Apparently, Eliot had reached the same conclusion, scratching at his throat before going back to hefting the melted icepack in his hand.

Alec didn't know what the fuck it was that he was doing, and there were too many Damn Fine Reasons why it shouldn't even occur to him, but he heard himself saying, "Hey. C'mere."

Maybe he'd only said it because he hadn't expected a response, but he got one. Eliot swiveled his head up, brushing the hair off his face, and met his eyes for the first time since they'd sat down. His expression wasn't what it had been, for a while now. Might've been a new one entirely.

He seemed frozen, then, they both did, but there must have been some momentum left hiding somewhere, because when Alec leaned into Eliot's mouth, he was pretty sure Eliot met him halfway.


	14. Chapter 14

  
The morning was a panicked litany of alarm clocks going off an hour late and two hours early, weak coffee, bad traffic, and hassles at the rental return. The sky was starting to cloud over, threatening to make moods even worse, and the 10:14 boarding was already being called as they rushed towards the terminal. They barely made it.

Eliot was the last to board, barely settling into his seat before the pilot began his announcements.

Intent on taking a moment to appreciate the fact that he was finally sitting down, he glanced past Nate and across the aisle at Hardison's profile, and felt his relief head spin into something else entirely.

 _Stubble just catching at the edge of his lips as he tilts his head, trying for a better angle._

Hardison pulling back, but not as far as he'd been before. Still close enough to see everything, read his mind, if Eliot let him. Still close enough that there was no space that Eliot could see that didn't have him in it.

Eliot swallowed thickly enough that it caught Nate's attention. "You doin' alright?"

"I'm fine," he answered, wincing at the tightness of his own voice, but it didn't matter. Nate was already turning back to his book, opening it up and finding his page.

Eliot kept his focus on the dreary tarmac outside the window, convincing himself that the flaps at the back of the wing really _were_ that fascinating, and wondered, idly, if maybe he'd be able to catch some sleep.

It wasn't fucking likely.

They took off at some point. He watched as the ground slipped away, cars becoming glints on the roads, and the roads becoming nearly invisible barriers between patches of brown and green. A few more minutes, and gray washed in as the clouds finally obscured even those from view.

Maybe they were getting inside, too. He was starting to feel numb, okay, distant. Muted, drifting with his forehead pressed against the plastic wall, his knit cap enough pillow for now as he stared unseeingly at nothing.

The light started to change, though, as they clambered out over the top of the clouds, and suddenly, everything was too bright.

 _Outside, the sky's growing light. The sun will be up soon, and it's surreal to think that everywhere else, time had been marching steadily onward._

Wanting to say something, point it out, maybe, but getting derailed by the small curl at the edge of Hardison's mouth, the glint of canine just peeking through the near smile, because he was in on the joke, too.

Awareness creeping in on the realization that whatever it was, whether it was a "we're all good" thing or a "shut the hell up" thing, an apology, distraction, experiment, or a just really bad idea- whatever it meant when all this started, he'd wanted it.

Still does. It's terrifying and it might screw things up, but for now he can afford it. He pushes thought away, though, because he doesn't want to miss anything, not right now.

He can freak out later. Right now, he's busy.

\---

Across the aisle, Eliot was still staring out the window resolutely enough that when the stewardess had come by with the coffee cart, Nate decided not to disturb him.

And it was just as well, really, because _seriously_? This was fucked.

Alec yanked his laptop out of the bag the moment the announcement came on that it was okay to do so. Checked to make sure that it was in offline mode, and shook his head derisively. _Ain't like I can't fly the damn thing from here_.

Next to him, Sophie stretched her back before resettling with her book, some thing about Mary, Queen of Scots, with a dreary portrait on the cover.

He pulled his headphones on and set to work. He wouldn’t be able to find anything new, not until they landed, but he could start cleaning everything up, and right now, the tedium was distraction enough.

 _You kissed him_.

Or not.

 _Okay. You spent a very long time engaging in make-out-like behavior, against all your better judgment. And you knew damn well it would turn out like this._

Maybe if they'd had more than ten minutes between waking and running out the door. Two minutes to, who knows, clear things up, find out where they stood, see if they were fucking okay.

Because if Eliot had been planning on being too disgusted to face him, a little warning would have been nice.

The translations were completed, so after creating a folder and naming it "Burma Shitstorm," he began sorting the files for later access. He tried to read only as much as he had to in order to keep them organized, but details, here and there, kept catching his eye.

Eliot's name on scanned papers, surrounded by words that didn't fit him any more. Had him all wrong. Even with everything Alec already knew, they didn't add up to any sort of sense, and if they were trying to describe the man Alec had kissed, they were even more lacking than he'd thought.

Maybe the paper trail hadn't caught everything. This, what he had on his computer, was Eliot, decontextualized. If the bits and pieces didn't add up to the man across the way, maybe they belonged to the stranger Eliot was pretending to be.

He wanted to delete every last one of the files, toss the hard drive out the window, because it wasn't like he needed them, really. He knew all he needed to know.

 _Like how there's a good chance that you were the first dude he's made out with. Ever. He's got what, like, ten years on you, and he's just now figuring it out? Or how he's still probably dosed up from…what was it? Oh yeah. Being kidnapped. Or how you've been tearing through his history like it was nothing?_

Give the guy a break.

The understanding would have felt better if it hadn't been followed up with the certainty that any one of those, on their own, would have been enough to jolt anyone up towards the door.

He was probably going to leave.

Sophie glanced up when she realized he'd been scowling intently at back of the seat in front of him, but then she turned the page and read onward, still unaware of the mess that he'd caused.

 _Fuck._

\---

The plastic of the airplane's inner wall was cool against his forehead, where the cap was slipping back, but the vibrations were starting to drill into his skull, down his neck, and echoing uncomfortably into his shoulder.

Eliot sat up again, using his movement to cover a cursory scan of his surroundings. Up ahead, on the other side, Parker was taking up two seats, her legs and sneaker-clad feet the only part of her that was visible.

Behind her, Hardison was staring angrily at his laptop, and if he knew he was being watched, he didn't let on. Not one to leave it to chance, though, Eliot tore his eyes away. He'd seen enough as it was.

Besides. He wasn't the one that started it.

 _Before it was the first kiss, back when it was still the kiss that hasn't happened yet._

Leaning in, lips brushing a little rough before pulling back, but not away. Hardison's voice is a near whisper when he asks, "This okay?" Hesitant, nervous, even, and it's ridiculous, seeing as how he's still got Eliot's breath clinging to his lips, and he's thrown by it, too, so now it's Eliot's turn.

"Yeah."

The second and third kisses are small brief things, but they're everything they need to be, and the next time Eliot gets enough space to breathe, to look, Hardison's focus is on him so fully that Eliot will never not feel it. Never not know.

He brings his hand up to the side of Hardison's neck, it's warm under his fingers as they wrap to fit the curve. It's a deliberate move, because Eliot has to show him that he gets it, he really does. Tactical, too, since Eliot needs to pull him in closer if he's going to make sure the message gets through.

Less than half a day later, Hardison wouldn't even look at him.

\---

Sophie and Nate were both getting twitchy, either eager to get off the plane, tired of all this stillness, or becoming aware that something was going on. At least Parker was still asleep in the row ahead, but the stewardess in the aisle, making like she was about to lean over to wake her.

They'd be landing in about ten minutes, and the world would reorganize them into a different array. Probably not one where he and Eliot could ignore each other so easily.

He had ten minutes to figure this out.

 _So you kissed him. A lot. And he was into it. Take everything else out of the equation, that's a good thing._

But it's bad math.

Right.

Temporary insanity aside, how did you get to that point?

Alec began listing the possibilities.

 _He's hot_. So were a lot of people.

 _He was freaking out, and you're a sucker for that sort of thing_ , was likewise turned down.

 _The timing seemed right_ would have made sense, if he'd ever known himself to have predilections towards being turned on by unpleasant war stories. Acknowledging that, however, shunted his thoughts in a more useful direction.

 _Bad scene. So you tried to ignore it, and that was what you came up with. And he played along._ Something about it resonated, but it was an unbalanced equation, still missing something.

The intensity, maybe, or the fact that his jaw still ached hours later.

The fact that he was trying to come up with a solution for it at all, when it was probably a lot easier to just let it go.

The fact that, even now, With Eliot seven feet and a thousand miles away, he wanted to do it again. Better. Get it right.

It wasn't a solution, yet, but it was a new equation. Regarding the tray, stowed in its upright position, Alec relaxed back into his seat, aware of shifting and the downward movement of the plane as it settled into a new course, destination locked in.

 _It's some time after the first few, only this time, the kiss doesn't waver, it's insistent and sure. It's lips as rough as his own pressing in. It's the flush spreading up along the curve of Eliot's ear, inches away, the closest it's ever been._

It's his hand curving along the edge of Eliot's chest, fingers slotting perfectly between the ridges of his ribcage, even under the sweatshirt.

It's mouths easing open and the startling shock of teeth tapping teeth, tilting for a better angle because the only other option is stopping.

It's falling, fast, and not minding at all.

\---

 _They're going to ask about what happened._

The fasten seatbelt signs were turned on for their descent, and not a moment too soon. He wanted to get home, away. Get some space to fucking _think_ , for a minute, without having to deal with everyone's reactions.

 _They're going to need to know._

Because that would come soon enough. And maybe he'd have enough of a game plan together that he could get through this without ruining everything.

 _It's all going to come out._

Hardison fell into step next to them as they made their way towards the parking lot, grinning, and Eliot hated the spark it sent through him. It felt an awful lot like hope, so he did what he could to stamp it out, turning his attention to Parker, who was talking about lunch, and omelets, and how Eliot had promised to show her how to make them.

Every condemned man got a last meal. There wasn't much sense in fighting it.

\---

 _"I've come to talk to you about Nathan Ford's crew."_

"No."

"No I haven't, or no you won't talk to me?"

"Take your pick."

"It's interesting, you know. Alec Hardison got himself distracted a few months back, working a job. Got sloppy. Seems he was too busy showing off to clean up after his crew."

"Evidence. You're talking evidence?"

"Almost enough to hang the lot of them. Unfortunately, and more to the point, their trail's gone cold. They've scattered. I'm not looking for a miracle, here. But if we don't track Alec Hardison down in the next few days, we've got nothing to take to the judge."

Colin Mason beamed, leaning forward across the table. "How can I be of service?"

\---

Alec was the last one to filter into Nate's apartment, but didn't make it ten feet before hearing, "So did you find anything, or are we booking a flight back in three days?" Nate, he sometimes forgot, wasn't a particularly patient man.

"Looks like we might have a lead, yeah." Dropping his bags on the couch wasn't an evasion, it was just what people did when they came into a room. He checked his watch, fairly certain that he'd been in a good mood not too long ago.

Nate looked to Eliot, Parker and Sophie following his gaze. "Care to elaborate?"

"Uh. Yeah." Eliot scratched his head, apparently intent on the floorboards, but another second ticked by, and he began.

"It was Myanmar, few years back. Went in to retrieve some prisoners. Job went south. Prisoners didn't make it, two guards didn't, either. Had to bail, skin out to Thailand for a bit."

He'd rehearsed the report. Gotten his lines down, whittled them into neutrality. Nate and Parker were impassive, which had probably been the whole point.

Sophie probably suspected, though, and though her eyes narrowed, she wasn't calling him on it, yet. "So what's the connection?"

"Got tagged by a sniper when I was crossing the border. My arm." He tilted his head to indicate. "If it wasn't Mikel Dayan pulling the trigger, she knows who did."

"You didn't mention _that_ that before," Alec interjected, startled, but it rolled off. Eliot obviously wasn't about to start explaining any more than he had to, but something flashed across his face, almost too quick to catch.

Alec wasn't sure that he'd seen it until a moment had passed, and by then it was too late.

"You didn't tell _any_ of us about _any_ of it." Parker's accusation hung in the air, solidifying, gaining mass.

Eliot was the first to snap under the weight of it.

"Okay. You know what? No, I didn't." His angry scowl pinned each of them in turn as he raised his jaw in defiance "It wasn't any of your business. Wasn't even _mine_ anymore. It's old news. Old _bad_ news, and not even the worst of it, if you gotta know, but it's _over_ and _done_ with." He snorted, coiled to strike as he glared at Parker. "And don't pretend like you want me telling your bedtime stories."

"She does have a point, Eliot," Nate was apparently looking to get his ass handed to him. "You didn't mean to get dragged back into this, and I know you didn't mean to bring us down with you, but here we are."

Eliot was flushed and furious, almost shaking with it, but he didn't take the bait. Just raised his eyebrows and sliced his hand through the air. "Exactly. I never asked, so back the hell off."

His glare skimmed over Alec as he turned, and the door slammed behind him as he left.

Staring after him, it wasn't clear, exactly, what they were supposed to do now, and it was a short while before anyone was looking anyone in the face.

It was Parker who moved first, sending a silent message to Nate, which was met with a brief nod. Permission granted or order given, Alec couldn't be sure, she was crossing the floor, pausing to listen before slipping out into the hallway to follow.

A beleaguered sigh drew his attention back towards the couch, Nate's was already there.

"Okay," Sophie began, "Would you mind _terribly_ if we could stop acting like children? Nate, you knew about his past, more than any of us. I understand that you're upset, and that we all have reason to be, but you can't just wield that knowledge like a sword."

"And what? Like sweeping it under the rug and pretending everything's _fine_ is going to solve anything?" They regarded each other's annoyance while Alec wondered if there was any way he could possibly escape without getting caught in the crossfire.

He slid towards the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

Nate deflated, after a moment, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Okay. You're right. I'll clear it up with him in a bit. Until then, we've got more important things to run down. First off, Mikel Dayan."

It was purpose, focus, and Alec had never been so relieved to start talking about a woman that could kill him with her pinky and a paperclip.

"Whatever else is going on, Eliot's right about one thing. We don't need her. Look here." Ignoring the clock readout at the corner of the screen, Alec transferred his desktop to the large monitors, tapped a few keys, and brought up the map. "The red dots are her recent known locations. Going by the dates, this," he ran the animation and lines began to connect the dots. "This insanity is her trail over the past year. She's been everywhere _but_ Myanmar. Hasn't even hit any of the bordering countries, and going by the dates on the places she _has_ hit, ain't no way she could have fit it in without using some form of teleportation."

"You sure about that?"

"Well, I am leaving out wormholes, but I'm pretty sure if one opened up in the middle of Cardiff, or somewhere, it would've made the papers. Probably. One thing that _did_ get noticed, though. He brought up another window, showing the grainy scanned articles he'd found. "A marketplace shootout, few miles north of Dawei in '03."

"What're we looking at?" Nate squinted over the top of his glasses. "Newspaper stories?"

"Nothing in English, but I ran them through translation. It ain't exact, but…the _gist_ of it is that the guards that, ah." _Eliot killed._ "They were members of the military force that's been running the place into the ground for the past fifty years. They were lauded in the local propaganda rags as heroes."

Sophie glared at the ceiling in disbelief. "So, great. Eliot crossed a military junta, and they're looking to bring him to justice?"

"Nah, that doesn't fit," Nate reasoned, after brief consideration. "Their government, if you can call it that, controls the media and forces their own citizens into labor. Getting justice for two low-ranked soldiers doesn't fit the M.O." He scowled at the map for a moment, calling over his shoulder. "Revenge might, though." Nate paced the room a few times, his eyes sharp but focused inward.

"Okay," he announced, coming to a stop. "So this Nicola guy knew to track Eliot down. He would have had to get the information to do so. So we need to find, ah. We need to know who's been looking at the original case files."

"C'mon, man. We're talking boxes of molding paperwork in basements on the other side of the planet, and I'm not seeing any indication that they're putting any sort of premium on good recordkeeping practices. If there is a chain of custody somewhere, it's not electronic. I'd actually have to get _out_ there, and there's no _way_ you're getting my ass back on a plane before I get a shower and-"

"No," Nate shook his head. "You're backup on this one. Sophie, you're up on this one. If Hardison gets you the numbers, can you talk someone into getting you what we need?"

Sophie was already practicing her bureaucratese. "You understand, of course, the volume of documentation that comes through this office, so it is imperative that you present the information in as complete a format as possible, otherwise the regulatory department will be forced to step in."

"All right, good." he laughed, pleased, his face going a little awkward when he realized Sophie was smiling back at him. Pulling his sleeve back to check the time, he began muttering to himself. "Okay.  I'm going to track down Eliot, find out if Parker's cooled him off or just made things worse."

 _Yeah, right. Just like that._ "You know where he went?"

"I have my suspicions," Nate called over his shoulder. "Back in a bit."

Alec peeled at the bottle's label as he searched out the numbers Sophie would need for her calls. It was harder going than it should've been. It was hard to concentrate. What it meant that he hadn't returned, what would happen when he did. If things would be playing out differently if last night hadn't happened.

He was at it for a while, long enough to forget that Sophie was still there.

"He's probably quite tired of having us putting his entire life under a microscope, wouldn't you think?" Sophie was looking down at the cell phone in her hand, her eyes scanning over some text message she'd received, probably from Nate. Sliding it shut, her full regard turned to Alec.

Alec turned and raised the bottle halfway to his mouth, having forgotten that it had been empty for a while, now. He'd get up for a new one in a while. He settled for toying with the neck of the bottle, spinning it between thumb and forefinger. "Yeah, but…Ain't like we've got some nefarious purpose, here. We _are_ trying to help him."

"Which only makes it worse. He is not exactly the type to ask for help."

"So what do we do? Just drop it?"

"No, of course not. But to be honest, I don't know that there's anything we can do, other than let him storm out when he needs to, and pretend we didn't notice when comes back."

Alec snorted. "Way ahead of you. I'm all over that particular course of action, believe me."

"No, you're not." Sophie evidently thought he was missing something important. "You were going to corner him in the kitchen the moment he gets back, and make sure he was okay."

"Really," Alec was puzzled. "How do you figure-"

Sophie didn't wait for him to finish. "You keep fiddling with an empty bottle, and you've been checking the time every two minutes since he's left. You're waiting until he's in there, so you can run into him."

"No, I'm merely distracted by trying to figure everything out." It sounded weak, even to him, and the only thing for it was to make sure Sophie didn't take it as confirmation.

The fact that she'd been right had was entirely beside the point. He turned resolutely to the screen, pretending to be engrossed, until a damp chill was pressed into his bicep.

He smiled as he accepted the open bottle, but there was no way he was going to thank her.

"It's okay, you know," she said, and Alec had to admit, again, that he had no idea where that one had come from.

"What do you mean?"

"To worry about him. Even if he doesn't seem to want it."

"I wasn't-" he broke off, not knowing what he'd even meant to say, but Sophie took it in stride.

"Hardison," Sophie leaned against the side of the couch, and he was suddenly very aware of where she was going with all this. "Things have been hard for all of us. Especially you two."

"Me? Nah, I'm fine."

"You've been handling almost everything, and don't think for a moment that we don't see it. You need a break, you're exhausted."

"That's just not likely, Soph."

She laughed, then, quietly. "Well. It wouldn't be remiss, or even out of character if you were to, say, decide that you were going to take a night off. Get out for a drink or two and a game of darts-"

"I don't play darts," Alec chuckled. "More of a pool guy."

"You would if you were stir-crazy and only had the use of one arm, though, wouldn't you?"

\---

Parker could break into anywhere, find any _thing_ , unless it traveled on two legs and knew how to evade a tail. Even when he was freezing his ass off. There was no way he was going back to that cell. _Apartment_. Back to the apartment.

He'd lost her two blocks back, and all it had taken was ducking into the police station.

He spent a few moments in the entryway, perusing a bulletin board full of faces that weren't his, and making note of the snow parking rules, which he'd have to look up at some point anyway, and started working out what came next.

Getting home- getting to his house was going to be a problem, but there wasn't much to pack, really. He could afford to leave the rest. It was shitty, going out like this, but maybe if he called, said goodbye. The crew had it together enough that he probably wouldn't have to explain. Much.

Behind him, the door opened, and the sound of traffic washed in on the chill draft, cutting right through him. He heard footsteps, then, stopping a few feet behind him, but forced himself not to turn.

"You done, Eliot?"

Eliot rolled his eyes, but didn't turn from the board. Read the numbers for three emergency shelters and the tip hotline, and tried to ignore the raw soreness of his lips, the most recent addition to his collection of physical baggage.

Nate continued. "About earlier. Ah. Didn't mean to come off like I did, you know? Don't think anyone did."

"Yeah."

A sidelong glance found Nate nodding his head, already moving on. "You want to come back up? Make lunch or whatever Parker was going on about?"

 _Ain't that simple_. He turned, regarding Nate skeptically. "Sure that's the best way to play this?"

"I don't. How? What do you mean?"

Two officers walked by, talking about the game and barely noticing them, but Eliot waited until they'd passed, all the same. "All this. You and the others, knowing everything. Back there proved it. It's already messed things up."

"Ah."

"And it's not like there's any point in going after this Nicola guy, anyway. I mean. We can screw him over a dozen different ways, but…"

"You don't want revenge?"

"Hell yeah I do, but." Eliot glared at Nate. "But there's only one kind that I can think of right now, and even if I _could_ manage it," he shrugged his shoulder, painfully, for emphasis, "it'll only make things worse."

"We can make sure he doesn't try it again, Eliot. That's what we're _here_ for."

Nate's optimism was a little hard to handle, sometimes. "No. You're _here_ to help out people who've been screwed over. To make sure the bastards of the world get what's coming to them. Not to help us get away from it."

"Seriously? That's how you're seeing this? Cause let me tell you, Eliot. It's just you, thinking that way. You know I've seen that file, that one and some of the others, right?"

"What, Hardison's spilling everything already?"

Nate shook his head. "2005."

 _Berlin_.

"So, what. General signs off on it, and everything's fine? Not that simple, man, and you know it. Even if you're cool with it, you saw Parker back there."

"Yeah, but I also saw her coming back up towards my place, and she wasn't worried about you coming back. She was worried that you weren't."

"What about the others?"

"Sophie reads people better than anyone, and she's been around the block more than once." Nate thought for a moment, then snorted. "You know, the second you were out the door, she was pissed at _me_?"

Eliot didn't want to ask, it felt like tipping his hand, but it couldn't be avoided. "What about Hardison?"

"Seriously?" Nate snorted. "Yeah, he tends to be a little, what…socially naive, but our resident king slacker's been busting his ass trying to figure this thing out. Believe you me, if he had any doubts, he'd be out the door already."

"Said it yourself, man. Thinks the best of everyone, but it don't mean he's always going to be right."

 _And there it is. All of it._

Nate's regard was measured, turning smug as he rested his case.

"So don't disappoint him. Come back and show Parker how to make omelets."

\---

 _"Alec Hardison is back. The entire crew came in on the same flight from Pittsburgh."_

"Interesting. All for one, it seems."

"You want me to kill him?"

"Circumstances have changed, it seems that I will be able to attend myself. I want to see if Eliot Spencer will crawl on his knees to save his friend, first."

"And if he won't take the bait?"

"Even better. He loses everything."

\---

Judging from the too-quiet-to-be-heard conversation between Parker and Eliot as they get to making lunch, one or both had made some apologies.

It didn't mean that lunch wasn't almost unbearably awkward. Sophie did what she could, but eventually, the conversation dwindled down to the weather, and then nothing. And Alec wasn't sure he was helping much on that front, either. Truth be told, he'd rather be back home already.

It would have helped if he'd gotten more sleep, maybe. And it definitely would have been nice if he'd had some idea that it was okay to look across the table at Eliot, headlong. Instead, he spent half the meal with his eyes sliding away every time Eliot's muted, dead-eyed regard turned his direction, and the other half pretending not to notice Sophie's insistent glances.

It was all a little ridiculous.

It was Nate, however, who finally managed to break the ice, about half an hour too late.  
"Don't think for a minute that you're going to leave before the kitchen's cleaned up," was all he said, as the first chair was being pushed back from the table.

Eliot frowned, then gestured at his arm with the first grin he'd tried all day, and a moment later Parker was insisting that she'd done all the cooking. More for the sake of keeping the sound of voices going, Sophie lodged a disagreement on the basis that she'd only been following Eliot's instructions.

"I'm on it," Alec volunteered, stacking up a few plates and heading to the counter, regarding the mess reluctantly. He was contemplating just dumping the plates into the washer, food scraps and all, when he sensed movement behind him.

"You screw up his dishwasher, you're going to have to fix it, you know," Eliot said, setting a small stack of plates on the counter and reaching over to turn on the taps.

"Life of the landlord. For an injured guy, you seem to be handling everything just fine, though," he nodded at the new stack of dishes. "Sure you don't want to take over?"

"Um. Ow?" Smirking, he filled his glass with water, setting it aside before turning to lean against the counter to thumb the lid off the bottle he retrieved from his pocket. He palmed once, and set the bottle aside. It didn't rattle as he set it on the counter.

"Still on the antibiotics?" Alec asked, because _what's with the Jekyll and Hyde routine_ probably wouldn't go over so well.

"Last one," he said, before picking up his glass to chase the tablet down. "Finally."

Alec snorted and turned on the garbage disposal. Glancing up to the glass cabinet over the sink, he could see the girls in the living room, talking to Nate as they gathered their jackets. Sophie already had her keys out.

He turned on the garbage disposal and began rinsing everything down the drain. The grinding noise filled the condo, and for a moment, if he spoke, if he asked, only Eliot would be close enough to hear.

 _Which would be great, if that wasn't exactly what you're worried about._ And Eliot was stepping away already, anyhow, but.

"Hey El," he started, watching him in the reflection, letting the sink and disposal run even though he'd finished with both of them moments ago, now.

"Yeah?"

But the moment had passed, and Alec cringed inwardly as he spoke. "You, ah. You ready to go when I'm done with these?"

\---

It took him five minutes to get his coat back on and the sling back in place, but it wasn't anywhere near as awkward as the drive out to his house, and nowhere near as long.

He hadn't been alone with Hardison since first thing that morning, when they'd both been scrambling to meet the others for the ride over to the airport, and since then?

Yeah. Things hadn't been much better.

He knew damn well that he wasn't lucky enough to get through the last five minutes of the trip without one or the other of them having to talk, though it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that it would be Hardison. Any minute now.

He wasn't wrong. "So Eliot," Hardison was trying for casual and falling about a mile short.

 _Like you can do better._ He grunted a vague acknowledgement, though, at least he could show that he was listening. Even if he was having a hard time tearing his gaze from the dashboard.

"That. Earlier. I don't want to. I don't know. But. Was any of that about last night? Or just everything?""

 _Don't give yourself so much credit._

Neither answer would leave his pride intact, but either beat cowardice. "The second one. We're cool."

"All right. Cool." Hardison scowled out the windshield. "You down with changing the subject now?"

"That would be a yes." Eliot snorted, watching the kids crossing at the stoplight. "Uh. So…"

"All right. What're you gonna do when you get home?"

"Not much. Get cleaned up, take the car out for a bit. Hit the library. You?"

"I'm gonna sit my ass down in front of the TV and do absolutely nothing, least until Sophie gets on her calls. Put together another few earpieces. Ain't' gotten around to it since the last time she lost hers."

"Thought you had spares lying around?"

"Don't you start with me, Doctor Mine Keeps Falling Out Because I Head-butted Some Dude at a Skynyrd Concert."

 _Where the hell am I supposed to go with that?_ "Whatever man," because a blowoff was always good, when the conversation went nowhere.

But maybe it hadn't been the best route to take, because the silence was more awkward than the near-talking had been.

And there was no doubt that Hardison got it, because he was huffing his annoyance, and rolling his eyes, and then his mouth was moving again.

"So you want to go shoot... darts or something tonight?"

He actually sounded vaguely pissed when he said it. That had to be what set Eliot off, laughing. Wasn't the best move, judging by Hardison's ramrod posture, so he cut himself off, coughing. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good."

And finally, Hardison relaxed, the tension eased, and he loosened his grip on the wheel. Did that thing like he was trying not to smile like a total nerd.

He'd totally call him on it, on any other day, but.

 _Ain't like you had the balls to go there_.

Besides. It was kind of an ego boost. Sort of…cute? Endearing? There had to be a word for it that didn't sound so…

 _Whatever._

Still, though, he did a better job not-smiling than Hardison did. And even if there wasn't much left to say, at least it was due to a different kind of anticipation.

It lasted until the car braked to a smooth halt, in front of his house.

"So, uh..." Hardison took his hands of the wheel, trailing off like he was still hell-bent on trying to recreate the earlier awkwardness, so Eliot cut him off.

"Yeah. So." He twisted to undo his seatbelt, and it was only because he knew an advantage when he saw it that he kept moving past his original destination, changing his target midway to catch at Hardison's mouth, almost too quick for him to react.

This wasn't a fight, though. He didn't have to worry about timing for the quickest strike. But it didn't mean he wasn't aware of every move, every sensation running through him, every minute detail of Hardison's reaction

Or the fact that he himself was acting like an idiot, so he reached out to the door handle and pulled away, grinning.

"Darts are cool, but I can still kick your ass at pool one handed, you know. Meet you there 'round eight?"

\---

By the time he was getting off the elevator, Alec was realizing two things.

One, it was the middle of the night in Myanmar. And two, _holy shit, he said yes_.

Dead sure that she'd hear it, he wiped the grin from his face before calling Sophie to let her know she was off the hook on making the calls. Tried to get mad when she pretended she had no idea why they'd have to wait until tomorrow night, instead.

He had hours, yet, until he had to leave. Plenty of time to rest up, chill for a while. Get to work on finishing a few new sets of comms.

By five, he'd finished nine of them.

By six, he'd showered, and every piece of clothing he owned was in a heap on the floor, cast aside for being too formal, too ratty, too obvious, or too sloppy. He knew he was acting a damned fool, diving into the pile to retrieve a different pair of black jeans, but it didn't matter.

He was alone in his apartment. Not like anyone was there to see him.

\---

Eliot almost sliced his face off, twice, trying to shave, but it wasn't until the third near-miss that reality started to set in.

He was going on a date. With Hardison. With another dude.

With a guy that he worked with, almost every day.

With the guy who'd found him beat to hell, naked on the floor with a bucket of piss in the corner. Who'd watched him moving like an old man, dressing like a bum, and acting like a freak for weeks, now.

Who'd seen too much, and knew things that nobody was supposed to ever know.

After all that, they entire "guy" thing started looking like a non-issue in comparison.

 _Except_.

Hardison was almost ten years younger, probably had ten years more experience, and could probably have anyone he wanted, if he'd just unplug long enough to look. He had to know that he was getting the short end of the stick. Some beat up mess of a head case who had to stop and consider, briefly, whether or not he'd been overoptimistic, going off the painkillers when he did.

But Hardison had asked, anyway, and it hadn't seemed like a pity thing, and Eliot had agreed. Because really, when it came down to it? It's not like his pride was running all that far off the floor, these days.

And, shit. The look on Hardison's face when he'd accepted? Kind of stunning, really.

So he got to it.

Combed his hair and brushed his teeth. Boots, instead of sneakers. Jeans that fit a bit more loosely than they used to, but it wasn't like Hardison hadn't seen him in worse, and at least the bruising around his face was gone. There wasn't much he could do about the sling, not if he didn't want to be in agony after fifteen minutes, but apart from that?

It would do, as long as he stopped thinking about it.

\---

Ron knew something was up the moment he'd laid eyes on Alec, but thankfully, he was on his way out the door, DVDs in hand. "Stepping out for a minute. See that the place is still standing when I get back," he'd said, leaning in conspiratorially. "And try not to have too much sex on the bar. You know how the owners get about that sort of thing."

Alec had to admit, he was a little relieved to see him go.

Casting a look around the place, there were no signs of Eliot, but then, he was a little bit early. He set about finding a place to sit where he could see the door, but the room was packed, there was nowhere.

There was, however, a hand waving him down, at an otherwise empty table at the far end of the room, over by the jukebox, and it took him a moment to recognize the associated individual. Swallowing his disappointment, he made his way over to say hi to James.

"Yo man, what's up?"

Apparently finishing a text message, James shoved the his phone into his back pocket. He looked miserable. Stressed out.

 _Probably didn't get the job, then_ , Alec recognized the signs. _Little drunk, too. Guy ain't been right in months_.

"Not much," James had to yell, over the noise. "How're you?"

"Me? I'm good. He stood by the table, feeling vaguely awkward. "How's the job search going?"

"What?"

"The _job search_."

"Hang on, I can't hear." James leaned in, trying to listen, and Alec repeated himself. "Oh. It's fine," he laughed, mirthlessly. "Got some prospects. Actually, there's something I wanted to run past you, see if you know anything."

"Okay, shoot."

"What?"

"I said-" Alec realized he was yelling over the blaring music. "It's too loud."

James shook his head again, and cocked his head towards the side door. Checking his watch, he still had a few minutes to eight, so Alec nodded, and followed him outside into the alley.

It was a dumb move.

He was only beginning to register the sight of James being shoved aside, tumbling against the dumpster, when rough hands grabbed at his right arm, tight. Another set joined in as he started to react.

There was a pinch in his neck, and then vertigo, worse than any height he'd seen.

\---

Eliot got to the bar a little less fashionably late than he'd intended, partially because he'd misjudged the drive time from the library, and partially because the only alternative to shoving down on the gas would have been to slam on the breaks. Turn tail and run home.

But it was fine. Checking again to make sure the keys were in his pockets, he opened the door and braced himself against the music inside.

The place was packed. Apparently they hadn't been the only ones with this idea, though a cursory scan of the room informed him that he was the only one there to appreciate it. Hardison hadn't shown, yet.

He ran into James, almost literally, on his way towards the end of the bar, but the guy looked to be in a hurry, eyes trained on the phone in his hand as he nodded a quick greeting and continued out towards the door.

As stressed as the guy had looked, he probably didn't need to be sitting in a bar, anyway.

A group of four had just vacated their seats, leaving empty glasses behind, so Eliot sat at the bar. It took a few minutes before the bartender made it down to his end, by which point he'd already decided on the weakest beer they had on tap, since he probably still had trace amounts of antibiotics and painkillers running through his system.

It tasted damned fine, though, and he had to remind himself to slow down.

From his perch at the bar, he watched the crowd for a while. Picked out Ron's boyfriend…Lee, his name was Lee, deep in conversation at one of the back tables with some redheaded woman. Up front, there was a ridiculous kid with glitter around his eyes trying to talk his way past the bouncer and not having much luck, and in between the two points was every bar in every city in every state. Drinks, waiters, people getting change for the pool tables.

A few minutes later, he saw the kid sliding through the side door, sneaking in.

Tamping down on the nervousness he was resolved not to feel, he double checked his cell phone against the clock on the wall by the bathrooms, gauging how far ahead they'd set it, and was surprised to find that it wasn't set to bar time. He'd already been there for twenty minutes.

If he called now, he'd come across as a total nag, no doubt about it. That had been one of the things that the books he'd furtively skimmed, had agreed on. The other was to _just be yourself_.

None of them, however, told him what to do in the event that it was his self that was probably the fucking problem in the first place.

\---

Ten minutes later, his beer was almost finished, and he was wondering just how many people were able to read the neon sign reading _Stood Up_ that had to be flashing in the air over his head.

Five minutes later, and the irritation wasn't going anywhere. Hardison wasn't even picking up his phone, and he hadn't sent any messages.

 _Could be driving_ , he wanted to reason, but it sounded a little pathetic.

At least he didn’t have anyone there to say it out loud to. He thought about grabbing another drink, but with the chemicals still in his system, it probably wasn't the best idea.

And it wasn't like he had that much of a reason to be stay.

Outside, he slid the phone open and began thumbing in a message.

 _I showed. You didn't. See you around._

He pressed send, and didn't even wait to see if it had gone through before shoving it into his pocket. He needed that hand to get out his keys.  



	15. Chapter 15

  
Eliot was opening the car door when he heard his name being called from a short distance away. It was Ron, crossing the sidewalk towards him, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"That bad, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

Ron stepped down from the curb and came around to the driver's side, momentarily distracted by the sling, but he didn't ask about it. _Least the man knows to mind his own business._

"If you're leaving already, _alone_ ," he waved a hand with sympathetic confusion. "It must not have gone well."

 _Or not._ "Didn't go at _all_ ," Eliot wondered how long it would take to actually make it home. "Got stood up."

"You sure about that?" Ron snorted. "Saw him in there. I ran into him as I was stepping out. Had to go return some movies. You sure you didn't just miss him?"

"Yeah."

"You checked back by the pool tables?"

 _He stood me up. We gotta belabor the point?_

"Yeah. Waited half an hour, didn't see him, so." Eliot pulled the door open, and started sliding inside. "Sorry, man, but I'm just going to-"

Ron's hand shot out and caught the door before Eliot could pull it closed. "Hang on a minute. We're going back in, see if Lee knows something."

"Don't. Look man. It's not like I don't appreciate the thought, but." _Leave it._

"None of my business, blah blah blah. Just saying. Alec was there, and he's not the type to ditch out. Aren't you a little curious?"

 _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ Ron released his grip, causing the door to fall gently back against the frame.

Eliot was going to have to open it again to get it secure enough to drive. If he was going to go through the effort anyway, he could at least go in and run damage control. Fight his own damn battles.

This was Boston, not the old west, so when the bar door swung shut behind him, no one turned to look, and no hush fell over the room. He fought his way through the crowd, back towards Lee's table.

"He's not here?" Lee asked, once Ron had given him the rundown. "He was talking to James, but I wasn't really paying attention, you know?" He twisted in his seat, searching the room. "Saw him leave, when you were coming in, but Alec wasn't with him."

\---

The van swerved to avoid a semi as it pulled onto the freeway, but Alec, in back, didn't stir.

\---

Taking the side door, Eliot stepped out into the cold cutting wind and took the deepest breath he could manage.

There was nothing to do but take a few breaths, get the utter fucking disappointment under control, and head around the corner, back to his car.

Nothing to do but take a few breaths, get the utter fucking disappointment under control, and walk around up around the corner to his car. Get the hell out of here, go home, pour a drink.

 _Fuck him anyway._

Shit, if the kid was going to bail, he could have called. Hell, Eliot got it. It probably hadn't been the best idea in the universe in the first place. But still.

 _Least I had the balls to show. Dick._

Anger was better than dejection. He'd get back home, and put all of this bullshit behind him. They'd deal.

This self-affirmation bullshit was pathetic.

He snorted, stepping aside got two guys coming out behind him, too engrossed in their argument to notice that he was there. The debate raged on, even as they slid into the black Volkswagen parked at the curb and pulled away.

He didn't bother tracking their route any further, because he was too busy staring at Hardison's car.

Stepping carefully, eyes darting into the spaces between cars, he made his way over to look through the windows, finding nothing amiss. No cracked windows or bodies in the back seat. The hood was freezing metal under his hand, cold enough to numb his fingers as he reached into his pocket and fumbled dumbly for his phone.

He dialed before the sensation could reach his brain and take over everything.

"Nate? I think we got a problem."

\---

He became aware of his head bouncing against the metal floor, and the sound of the road beneath. Awareness that he was awake, but not as much as he probably should be, came a bit later.

It was dark, and from his vantage point on the van floor, he could only see streetlights receding through the small windows in the back doors. They seemed to be going pretty fast, but he didn't bother trying to calculate their location. He had no idea how long he'd been out, and he was admittedly distracted by the vague shape of a man sitting a few feet away, and the much more distinct outline of the gun he held.

"Whassup?" He tried, sitting up with slow caution and resisting the urge to check if his pockets had been emptied, yet. They probably had been, and the gesture probably wouldn't be appreciated. They passed underneath another bank of lights, and he noticed the ski mask pulled low.

The fact that he knew exactly what this was, and exactly where this was going, was a little fucked up.

\---

"What do you _mean_ , he _disappeared_? Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter."

" _Eliot_ ," Nate's voice was thick with warning, and Eliot sighed.

"I'm on over on Tremont."

"Okay, get your ass over here. I'll call Sophie and Parker back in, and we'll figure this out."

Eliot hung up, eyes sweeping one last time across Alec's car and back towards the bar, willing him to appear, to wander around the corner, and explain how this was all just some big miscommunication.

But he didn't.

\---

He met Parker going up the stairs, and Sophie was already in the kitchen, setting out coffee mugs. Neither looked particularly thrilled to be there.

"So," Nate began the moment Eliot entered, and he had to force himself to step any closer towards the table. "Run us through it. You were grabbing beers. Where were you meeting?"

"A bar. Does it matter?"

"It might."

There was no way he wanted to get into it right now, but maybe Nate had a point. "Place called the Eagle."

"Okay." Nate stared into his coffee mug, thinking.

"Okay? That's all you're going to say?"

"Uh. About what?"

"Uh, the _bar_?" Eliot stumbled.

"What, I know the place. Met up there with Hardison a few times."

"Oh. So. You know. About…" He waved his hand, willing Nate to read his mind, maybe, at least enough that he wouldn't have to say it out loud.

Nate nodded irritably. "So, so what? You got a problem with that? We've got bigger issues right now, so just _save_ your freakout for later." In the background, Sophie's face was so still, it was clear she was forcing herself to keep from laughing. Eliot rolled his eyes and prepared to interrupt, to tell them _both_ where they could shove it, but he couldn't get a word in. "Look, Eliot, I don't know what you're getting at, but hanging out in a gay bar doesn't make you gay, so get over it."

"Yeah. I got that." He scratched at his neck, trying to resist the urge to crush Nate's windpipe. Too pissed off for judgment, and still sneering, he continued. "Making out with Hardison might, though."

"I didn't make out with him!" Nate exclaimed, incredulous. "Like I said, it. It was a work thing. I'm. Not that there's anything against-"

Eliot didn't even care that he was cringing, or that Parker was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. _Nothing_ about tonight was going the way it was supposed to, and it wasn't right, that it was all coming out. Like maybe Hardison should have had a say.

He opened his mouth, because there was probably something more that he could say that he'd regret later, thinking _you might as well get it all out at once_ , but Sophie's voice broke in, too quiet to be teasing. "Nate, you ass, he wasn't talking about you."

Eliot watched Nate's wheels turn, saw the realization strike.

"Oh." Nate said, speculation overcoming his earlier words. "Okay. Well. So." He shook his head, but his eyes flashed, briefly, in what might have been amusement. "All right. Moving on. You find his computer?"

Eliot was a little surprised that the segue was so nonexistent, but he was more ready to move on than Nate probably was, so he jumped on board. "Haven't been to his place, and it wasn't in his car," Eliot sat down with a wince, and adjusted his sling as Nate stood up, ducking back into his office behind the living room.

A brief rummage later, Nate came out with his undocked laptop in hand.

"Okay, I. Hardison bounces everything onto the OC server, which I've got remote access to, just…" He squinted at the screen and began the laborious-looking task of figuring out how to pull up what he needed.

"OC account?" Parker asked. "What's that?"

"As in Oh, Crap. Apparently. Hang on. There." Tapping a final key, he continued. "It's a bunch of stuff. Backups of recent work, comms controls, and more importantly, the interface for tracking your phones."

"He can track us wherever we go?" Sophie sounded concerned. " _That's_ a little unsettling."

"Just because he can doesn't mean he _does_ , but. He's got his phone on him, we should be able to find him."

"Really," Sophie stepped close, leaning over his shoulder, frowning in consternated concentration. "What am I looking at, here?"

"I, ah. Red dots on the map."

"I see a map, Nate, but no-"

"I know, I know. I'm missing a step. We only went over it once, and it was a while ago."

"Maybe his phone's not on?" Parker tried, not sounding like she'd convinced even herself.

Sophie shrugged. "It's more likely that he needs to make a call, first."

Eliot nodded, though no one was asking. "Something to lock onto? Makes sense." For now, though, it wasn't particularly helpful. "So, Nate, you actually know how to work all this?"

"Not a clue," he grumbled, falling back in his chair. "Feel free to step in with any ideas. Seriously."

Sophie clicked her tongue and began pacing. "Are we correct in assuming that Hardison's been taken by the same people responsible for attacking Eliot?"

"Makes sense. We're close to identifying Nicola. Or. We were. If they were trying to prevent that, this was the best move they could have made. I don’t even know where to start with his files."

"Let me take a look at them," Sophie ordered, waving him out of his seat and away from the computer. A few clicks later, and she found something. "I. Okay. Yes. Here's everything he's got for the current case, as of this morning."

"How did you know?"

"I saw him working on it on the plane," Sophie said, scanning through the directories.  
"It seems that he was getting everything ready for the next part, see? Here are the offices he wanted me to try." Checking her watch, she nodded. "He doesn't have contacts listed, but it's afternoon in Dawei. I could start trying calling around, see if I can get bounced in the right direction."

"Seriously?" Nate scowled. "This is the best we've got? Thought he said he was going to get some more info."

"Maybe he just didn't have time to upload it," Parker offered, hopping up out of her seat. "I'll go out to his place and see what I can find."

"I'm going with you," Eliot stated, getting ready to stand. "If I was running this thing, I'd have his place staked out. You're not goin' in solo."

"Eliot, you're still-"

"What, useless? My eyes and ears still _work_ , Sophie, so-"

" _No_." Nate spoke sharply. "No way. It's dark, and if anyone's there, they're probably expecting it." He caught Eliot rearing back for another argument, so he continued. "Eliot, if something happens to Parker on your watch, tell me how that's going to play out."

"Then I'll go on my own," Parker sneered. "It's not like I'm helpless, you know."

Nate turned his disagreement onto her. "Yeah, and if something happens to you, and Eliot's not there, how's _that_ going to play out, you think?"

Eliot snapped, enough that he was in Nate's space without even being aware that he'd moved. "You're _not_ putting this on me, man, so how's about you come-" He was cut off by the phone's vibration in his pocket, and his rant was forgotten the moment he saw the caller ID.

"Hardison?! Where the hell are you?"

"Put it on speaker," Nate whispered, and Eliot followed orders.

"...about earlier man, but. Ah. Looks like something came up."

He was about to reply when Sophie's panicked voice interrupted. "Hardison!" Sophie's voice was collected, though she was clearly worried. "What's going on?"

"Ah. Don't really know. I'm in a van." There was a pause, the sound of movement, as everyone stared at the phone in Eliot's hand. "Just woke up a few minutes ago and there's some guys here holdin' guns all up in my face. One of them's bein' nice enough to let me call. Or order me to call, however you see it."

Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm guessing you've got a message for us?"

"Yeah. Eliot, ah. Don't change your number. What the?" there was a rustling, and the sound of Hardison snorting. "Sorry. My new best friend's handwriting ain't all that it could be…"

Eliot was going to deck him, soon as they found him. This was not the time to start cracking wise.

Hardison continued. "No cops. Don't try anything smart. The usual drill, looks like. You'll get a call with instructions in three days."

Parker hissed, and Eliot was about to cut in, but Hardison continued.

"And you know, guys? If you don't answer the phone, apparently I'm a dead man. So. That's all I got. Uh. Sorry."

"We'll get you out of there," Nate was insisting, but the line had already gone dead.

\---

The phone's backlight was still glowing when he slid it across the floor to Ski Mask. It was just past ten, but the information wasn't as much help as he'd hoped it would be. For all he knew, they'd been driving in circles.

Fair enough. It wasn't the van he should be worried about, but he was doing okay, considering. In three days, the team would be contacted with instructions. And while he was relieved that they'd probably find a way to have his back, it was really the fact that he had it in writing that he'd be _alive_ in three days that was keeping his freakout at bay.

Then again. _Got a gun pointed at your face and you're actin' like it's a good thing? Something's wrong with you._

Because really, the call had also confirmed what he would have already known, had he gotten around to thinking it. He was either a hostage or bait. Collateral, only valuable because of his trade-in value.

He should have been panicking, but he was too tired. Maybe the drugs hadn't really worn off, or maybe he'd hit his head again.

Still, though. He really needed to get the hell out of this van.

Ski Mask moved, and Alec waited for him to approach, to shove the spike into his neck, to send him completely under again, but he was merely making himself comfortable.

Apparently Ski Mask didn't consider him much of a threat. The gun listed to the side as he rearranged his limbs. If he'd been ready for it, it would have been the perfect opportunity. Could have disarmed him at least, gotten out of this mess.

 _Yeah. Just keep telling yourself that_.

\---

Nate Ford could be unpleasant when his plans were thwarted, and Eliot supposed that none of them were at their best right now, but this was getting them _nowhere_.

Parker was watching the exchange with nervous apprehension, but Eliot didn't like how her eyes kept sliding to the door, how her frame was coiled so tightly. He'd want out too, if he were sitting so close to the line of fire. It was bad enough seeing it from his post on the bar stool, leaning back against the counter.

Sophie was stalking another angry swath across the living room, turning on her heel to strike again, but Nate was already speaking.

"You're not _listening_ , Sophie. I don't. This. Look. Just. The only avenue we've got, right now, is what Hardison was working on, and you know it. What you're suggesting is just starting over from scratch!"

The watch on his wrist was the only calm face in the room. It had been three hours since he'd been stood up.

How much of that time Hardison had spent unconscious, and how much spent looking down the barrel of a gun, Eliot couldn't be sure. But it hadn't been half a day yet, and already the cracks were starting to show. The crew was falling apart.

And it was really fucked, because that wasn't the first thing on his mind. He couldn't concentrate. Hadn't even been able to track what the argument had been for the past half an hour or so. His head wasn't in the game, it kept jumping about twenty-two hours behind, alone in a hotel room, with someone who was supposed to be here now.

Last night- yesterday, whatever, he'd been kissing Hardison. For all his earlier insanity, it was strange how it had fallen so far off the radar in just a few hours. Stranger still to be reminded of it by the hint of stubble burn sitting just far enough below the surface of his skin that he couldn't find it in the mirror.

He'd checked three or four times, now, not because he was the sentimental type, never had been, but it seemed like the sort of thing that someone should note for the record.

Sophie's voice went shrill for an instant, before dropping into a deadly tone, too quiet to hear, but it was Nate's roaring response that had Eliot homesick for the small rooms of their old offices. Where he would've had the option of closing his door to let them work through it without an audience. Where he could lose his shit without anyone seeing.

But there was nowhere to hide, here, and the way things were looking now…

It was ice, splintering beneath his feet. If he went down first, the others would be dragged down with him.

 _Chill out. Keep it frozen_.

He very nearly jumped at the sound of a slamming door. Sophie had shut herself in Nate's office, leaving Nate staring at the laptop in frustration. "She's just, ah. Going to make some calls," he called as if it was part of some plan, but his tone wasn't reassuring, and the muttering that followed- something about a voodoo doll, wasn't helping any.

Parker, sensing that it was finally okay to move, rose from the couch and came towards the kitchen, yanking the cupboard door open and pulling down a bowl.

"So. You and Hardison, huh?"

If this conversation had to happen at all, he would have preferred it to happen anywhere other than Nate's kitchen as she was pouring cereal, but Nate was bent over the computer, Sophie was in the other room, and following Parker to the refrigerator was as close to privacy as he was likely to get.

He approached with caution, though. "So, uh. You okay with this?"

Parker let the refrigerator door swing shut and glanced at him quizzically for a moment, before understanding. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because.." Because he wasn't blind. He'd seen Hardison, those early days, those last few jobs. Seen them both, in the hangar, the last time he was supposed to see any of them.

It wasn't like he needed her permission. He didn't know if she'd been interested in the first place, or, really, given the way tonight had panned out, if it was even his place to ask. If he had the right to assume, or even to guess, without getting a read on Hardison first. If it even fucking _mattered_ , anymore.

 _If you just outed yourself for nothing_ , the thought came, nearly derailing him. "I dunno. Just." He couldn't find the words he was looking for. How to hone them down.

Parker's expression wasn't helping any, either. Confusion, he would have been okay with, and ecstatic exuberance he'd known not to expect. She had too many varieties of stonefaced awareness to catalog. He'd been ready for three different kinds of psychotic anger, already planning his escape routes, but this smile was new. Reassuring. Actually kind of pretty.

And it didn't break as she read his confusion, finally understanding. "Aw. You're trying to make sure everything's okay for your boyfriend for when he gets back after we rescue him."

"He's not-" Eliot broke off, mid sentence. _He was nabbed. Kidnapped. Didn't bail, didn't walk out. Chances are, if things had gone different, he would have stayed if he could._ It wasn't solid, but it shed new light on things, mostly his own stupidity.

His realization was missed entirely by Parker, who was shoving cereal into her mouth. "Oh, shut up. We're good. Or. You know. Will be. Once we get him back."

"Yeah," he said, because if there was a word for hope flashing intense in the middle of a shitstorm, he hadn't learned it yet.

\---

Finally, the van ground to a stop, and there was no light coming through the windows. The door was pulled open from outside, and Alec could just make out movement, but nothing by way of detail. Not much of anything, really.

The garage, or wherever they were, didn't look particularly inviting.

"Move," Ski Mask ordered in a low growl, and Alec remembered something he hadn't known he'd forgotten.

Total outright dread.

\---

"Eliot?"

His head snapped up, startled, to find Nate kneeling by the side of the couch, smirking mirthlessly. "You alright?"

"Wasn't sleeping."

"Wasn't what I was asking."

Eliot looked around the room, finding that other than the two of them, the room was empty. "Where's Parker?"

"She stormed off a while ago, and I'm really hoping she's going to keep her word and go straight home. We're going to run recon on Hardison's place in the morning, once it's light out. Sophie's in the other room, on the phone."

'Right." Eliot took a deep breath and held it, the pain serving, at least, to wake him up. "Yeah. I should probably head out, here. What the hell time is it?"

"Almost two. You're welcome to the couch, if you're too shot to drive."

"Thanks, man. I'm fine."

"Okay. Nate nodded, stood, but didn't step away. He was waiting for something, or working out what he was going to say next. "Hey El? Seriously. You doing alright? With all of this?"

"I'm fine," he answered, because _I will be_ was close enough to the truth. "Just. I'll be glad when this is all in the rearview."

"Yeah." Nate agreed, glancing towards the office door with the air of a man who was finally getting to the point he'd wanted to make all night. "This thing with Hardison…"

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"What? No," Nate said, and he seemed like he meant it. "Just caught me unawares, back there, is all."

"Yeah, well. You and me both."

"How long?"

Eliot shrugged, boggled by the surreality of the conversation. "Um. Tonight was going to be the first actual. Date. Or whatever. Probably the last. Not really thinking there's gonna be a second one any time soon."

"Because what, you don't think you're more fun than being held hostage?"

"No. Just. It's my fault, Nate. All of it."

"You're being an idiot. It's late, so I'll let it slide, but-"

"But nothing. Wasn't for me, he'd be okay right now. Everything would be normal."

"Don't do that. We're fine. We'll get through this."

"Yeah. I can tell," Eliot disagreed, gesturing towards the closed office door. "'Cause _this_ isn't exactly what I was talking about, earlier."

Nate was winding up to disagree, but the office door opened. Sophie, phone to her ear, stepped out into the living room, and Nate jumped on the excuse for a segue the moment he saw it.

"You have any luck with the calls?"

"Only the bad kind," she replied. "I'm on hold, and then I've got one more number to try, but I'd rather do it at home." She gestured tiredly at her feet. "Get out of these shoes." Eliot wasn't sure, but it sounded a bit like an apology. She switched the phone to the other hand worked her coat over her up her arm. "I'll call you before I turn in, but…"

"Yeah," Nate nodded, forgiving. "We'll pick it up in the morning."

\---

 _"I've got your guy, if your offer's still good."_

"Excellent. I presume you're still interested in American dollars?"

"Half now, and the rest when he's destroyed."

"Quite right. Be there at seven tomorrow morning, and we'll go over the details."

"Sounds good. See you in a few hours, Sophie."   



	16. Chapter 16

  
"Remember, kid. Spencer's our end goal, not you. Don't go thinking you're not expendable. We find out you're more trouble than you're worth, and we'll move on to the next in your crew. Anything else, at least he'll know we're serious. So whaddya say, huh?"

In retrospect, elbowing the guard in the stomach and trying to run for it hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. Alec nodded his face against the brick and hoped the gun pressed tightly to his spine didn't go off.

They led him back to his room, which wasn't so much a cell as it was a busted freight elevator, and shoved him inside.

"Hope it was worth it," the Dog the Bounty Hunter wannabe said, pulling the gate shut. "I don't know how soon we're gonna feel like letting you out for another bathroom break."

Alec rolled his eyes without turning around, as he took two steps towards the ratty yellow couch someone had pulled in there. He had no idea if it had been there before they'd scouted this place out, or if it had been specially moved in, but he doubted he'd get around to asking.

He sat down, too tired this time to avoid the crusted red stain on the edge of the cushion. It could have been blood or curry sauce, for all he knew. All told, though, the couch wasn't all that uncomfortable. Not a busted spring pushing up from anywhere, and he settled back.

He couldn't exactly start rummaging through the cushions like he was looking for spare change, not with the rotating audience of armed guys in bad leather jackets watching from the other side of the cage, but a busted spring would have been real useful, right about now.

It had only been a couple of hours.

\---

A blue hatchback passed by, a red-haired woman alone in the driver's seat.

Eliot added her license plate to the slowly growing list, glancing at Hardison's building again before turning his regard back to the street. Another set of headlights were cutting through the mute gray haze, coming towards him, and he wondered if the sun had risen already or not.

The newspaper truck didn't slow as it passed, and he watched it in the rearview as the taillights faded from view.

There came a sudden tapping at the passenger side door, and he'd thrown the car into gear by the time he recognized Parker's, peering in at him, her pack over her shoulder, her breath just starting to fog the glass.

Obviously impatient, she waited for him to unlock the door and slipped inside, clearly concerned. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" He could feel the chill of the air coming from her coat.

"I asked first."

Putting the car back into park, he watched a blue truck pass by and noted the license plate, but it seemed ridiculous, now. He picked up the notepad and showed it to her with a shrug.

"Just thought…I dunno." It was about as honest as he could manage, because he hadn't actually thought this through. When he'd left Nate's, he'd honestly intended to go home and try to sleep. He'd just wound up here, instead.

"Oh," Parker nodded, shifting her pack on her lap and perusing the list. "This is a good idea."

 _Not without Hardison to run them_ , Eliot admitted, but didn't respond. "What about you?"

"I _may_ have broken into his apartment."

"Nate told you not to."

"He told us _both_ not to. I just wanted to make sure nobody'd been in there. I grabbed his laptop, in case he bounces his security monitoring over to it, and-" Parker scowled, riveted by the scenery outside. "I took the external drives from when you. You know."

"Why?"

"Playing the odds. If they took Hardison, it had to be for what he knows, the evidence he has." She turned back to Eliot, her need for confirmation plain. "They're going to want it back, right? So I was just saving us time, later."

"Parker," he began, but exhaustion was suddenly rolling over him in a slow wave, and it all seemed like too much to get into. "Actually, that's probably good thinking," he decided. "You need a lift home?"

"I'll go home if you will."

"Deal."

\---

He wished he could ask for some paints or something, because as outlandish as it was, it distracted him from how badly he needed a computer, a phone, anything.

This was ridiculous. He could do this. Even if last night didn't count, there were still only a few days left to get through.

Three days with nothing at all to do but pretend he didn't notice the guys with the guns watching him like he was a particularly important, if dull, zoo exhibit.

Three days with no contact. No information. No idea at all what the plan was. No way to learn, and no way to pass along what he found.

 _The guy that looks like a high school chemistry teacher on steroids needs a new set of kicks. Someone was smart enough to make sure the control panel of the elevator was removed before I got here. The guy with the flat head has a bad case of halitosis. The bathroom is out through the basement and up half a flight of stairs, and out of paper towels. Parker could get through the padlock on the gate in a heartbeat. If Eliot was there to take down the guards. If Sophie was there to talk everyone in. If Nate had a plan._

But if there was one, Alec didn't know. He was a NPC.

\---

By the time he'd gotten home, Eliot lacked the wherewithal to make it up the stairs, winding up on the couch instead.

Sunlight had long been creeping in through the window by the time he admitted that maybe the extra effort to at least remove the sling would have been worth it, but it wasn't enough for him to act on it. He didn't want to move.

Last time he'd been inches from sleep on this couch, he'd known- all too well- where Hardison was. Even now, stretched out like he was, arm crossed carefully against his chest, there was too much empty space.

He wondered if maybe they'd let Hardison have a blanket or something. His house was cold enough, but it was comfortable, compared to a concrete floor.

It was stupid, though, thinking about it. He could hope all he wanted, but it didn't help any. Didn't even make up for the fact that this was his own fault.

\---

The explosion had come and gone, and all that was left was the ever-present aftermath, but the sirens and alarms and beating of helicopter blades were fading, giving way to the sound that was actually waking him.

His phone, on the floor, going off in the silence. It was Nate, it was a little past noon, and truth be told, Eliot was surprised he'd held out for so long.

"What's up?"

"Hey, I've been thinking. How do we run game on Nicola when he already knows our faces?"

"He probably knows more than that, and we've got fuck all." Eliot replied like this was a normal topic to discuss before coffee. If he'd had some, maybe he would've thought more before saying, "We're gonna have to play along."

"But we can-"

"Hardison's a _hostage_ , now, you hearing this?" Eliot pushed himself off the couch, because heading towards the kitchen wasn't pacing. "That changes everything. Ain't just some piece of artwork or something."

"So we find out what he wants, and then..." Nate trailed off, his head probably trying to spin a thousand plans at once, but his tone belied what he'd never admit. His hand was a bust.

"They want _me_ , Nate. They're gonna call and demand a trade, and we're going to make it."

"You make it sound like we're out of options," Nate tried for confidence, and Eliot wished, _hard_ , that he could play along. Might have been able to, if Nate didn't sound so rough. Like he needed a drink.

"We have options. This can go down smoothly, or this can become a shitstorm." He considered the contents of the refrigerator, idly, and shut the door.

 _They're feeding him, right?_

Focus.

"You ever deal with hostage negotiations before?"

"Me? No. Why? Have you?"

"After a fashion, once or twice. Usually I only got called in after they'd gone south."

"So tell me how to avoid that when I talk to them."

Nate was supposed to know everything. He wasn't supposed to ask for advice.

 _And you're not supposed to get your own crew kidnapped. Nothing's where it's supposed to be._

"They're going to call _my_ phone, so I'm guessing I'll be the one doing the talking."

"I hear that, but it sounds like if you get your way, I'll be the one trying to negotiate to get your ass out of there. So tell me."

 _They didn't call the first time around, did they?_ Eliot refrained from saying. It just sounded petulant. "By the time they call, it will have been a few days, so they should have cooled off from the initial assault. That's a point in our favor."

"Yeah, well, we need all of those that we can get," Nate agreed.

"Okay. Say you were taking the call for Hardison. We know why they've got him, and they know that we know, and they'll read any attempts to negotiate that point as an obvious stall. Don't argue with them and don't back them into a corner. Delay, make counter-offers, but keep them on the line. Ask open ended questions, not just yes or no."

"Won't that just give them the chance to confuse things?"

"Maybe, but the more they have to think, the better off we are. Like, ask about the details, how they want something done, that sort of thing. Ask about Hardison, if he's okay, if he needs a doctor, if you can talk to him. All the stuff you'd normally ask. "

"You sure we want their attention on him?"

"Definitely. The more they're thinking about this stuff, the better the chances are that they'll see him as human, so…" Eliot wasn't sure he was explaining this right. Trying to condense three weeks of decade-old training into one phone call was frustrating as all hell. He was starting to think that maybe he should just get his ass over there, explain it in person, but Nate prompted him to go on.

So he did. "Here's the thing. You don't want to push it too far. Don't frame yourself as the opposition, and don't let them paint you that way."

"But we _are_ the opposition."

"Yeah, but. Look. If it goes south, we need to make sure that we've still got Hardison on our side, that he's not up to his eyeballs in Stockholm syndrome."

Silence on the line, for a moment, as Nate considered the possibility. "You really think that's a concern?"

"I don't know. He's just a kid, Nate."

"Eliot?"

It was a good thing that he hadn't gone over there. He didn't want to look Nate in the face right now. "He doesn't have the training to deal with this sort of thing. Ain't his world, you know?"

"Since when?"

This entire Q and A had gone on far too fucking long. "C'mon, man. Hacking, the computer stuff. It's not like he's built for going out and throwing down."

"He's not _spineless_." There was censure in Nate's tone.

"I'm not saying that he is, just." Eliot wished he'd never opened his mouth. "He can hold his own, most of the time, but I don' t know if he's prepared to deal with this."

"Were you?"

Eliot snorted, but it didn't turn into a laugh. "Which time?"

"Any of them. The first."

He fought the urge to throw the phone across the room, actually felt his muscles tensing ready to coil. "Actually, yeah. I was. This is what I do. All I'm sayin', is… It ain't supposed to be him, doing it. He's too-" The admission was a little much, maybe, so he continued. "So look. They'll call. They're going to want me. And everything I just told you aside, we're going make the trade. _I'll_ make the trade."

"No, Eliot. I know you think all this-"

"Ain't about that. I've got a better chance of dealing with them and getting out." _Without it destroying everything that I am_ , he almost added, but held back.

Nate's thoughts evidently weren't taking the same track. "Okay. I don't like it, but if you're gonna do this, we have to be smart. Get a plan. I'll call the girls, give them the rundown. You think you can get over here around three? We still need to go check out Hardison's place."

"Actually, we don't. Uh. Kind of ran into Parker there this morning. She grabbed the drives and his computer. Nobody was there."

"Seriously?" Nate was rolling his eyes, Eliot was sure. "Whatever. Let me reiterate that we need a plan. And that _this_ time, I need everyone to stick to it, okay? If that's not too much to ask?"

\---

"Any idea how they'll run it?"

"They've had time to move. Could be anywhere. But I'm guessing they're local. Nicola's not going to add barriers to prevent getting what he wants."

"What does it matter, anyway?" Eliot argued. "They'll make the call, we'll do what they want."

"No!" Sophie was surprised and Parker was vehement. "Eliot can't turn himself in!"

But he'd already decided that this was _going_ to happen. He didn't need them to _make_ it happen. He didn't need their concern, or their goddamned _permission_ , and he really didn't need their arguments.

"It's the only option, and I'll handle it solo I need to." he said, as calm as he could manage, daring their disagreement.

"He's got a point," Sophie eventually ventured, hesitantly feeling her way through the sentence. "If we're not careful when we go in there, Hardison will reap the whirlwind."

"So we just make sure that doesn't happen," Nate stated, and Eliot had heard enough.  
He pushed himself up off the couch, and started walking away, before he said or did something stupid.

"We've got your back, whether you like it or not, I don't care, you know," Nate called after him, but seeing that he was only going as far as the kitchen, and not escaping the apartment, he cleared his throat and continued at a more reasonable volume. "We're not letting you wander off to get yourself tortured just because you're feeling guilty."

"Maybe he's doing it because he loves him."

Parker's quiet protest hung loudly in the air, and he wanted to fall through the floor. If he kept his head down, pretended he hadn't heard, maybe he could look them in the face once he turned from the coffee pot.

"Hush, Parker," Sophie intoned, but all the same, he could feel three sets of eyes burning at the back of his head. He decided that maybe he'd add some milk and sugar to his coffee. Took a little extra time stirring it in.

He wasn't sure if Parker was right, but it wasn't like her being wrong would have been any easier.

\---

Nobody had showed up yet, but everything was fine.

Or, _had_ been fine, right up until he realized something that should've been obvious from the start.

They had no way to find him.

It had taken weeks to find Eliot, when he'd gone missing, but he'd been able to sift through the paper trails and bank statements and employment records. He'd traced phone records and passenger manifests.

He'd had intel, more importantly, he'd known how to _find_ it, in places eve Nate, in all his genius, didn't even know about.

None of them had his skills. Pompous, but true.

Then again, right now, he could really use their talents. Any one of them would have been long gone by now. But not him. He didn't have their nerve.

It was a little pathetic.

\---

Sophie looked mildly surprised to see him, which was strange, since she was the one standing on his front steps, one hand poised to knock, the other in her purse.

"What's up?"

"Oh! You're home. Excellent. I was just. I don't mean to intrude, but you left rather abruptly, earlier. I came by to make sure everything was all right. And to offer my ear, if you wanted to talk. It's been a strange time."

"Sophie, darlin'. Thanks, but. I'm not really in the mood."

"Of course not," Sophie's smile was self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I just worry, sometimes. But. I'll leave you to your evening, then. Call me, of course, if you change your mind. I'll listen."

"Thanks," Eliot said, watching her return to her car uneasily. He hadn't expected her to be so undemanding. It wasn't her style.

If he looked in the mirror, wouldn't be surprised to read _Fuck Off_ hanging over his head in glowing red neon, and Sophie Devereaux didn't need so blatant an indicator to pick up on it.

She pulled away from the curb, so he went back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, hoping that the action would force his appetite out of hiding.

He barely felt like eating, not really. Pulling all the ingredients together to actually cook something was too monumental a task to deal with, so he rummaged through the freezer until he found a frozen dinner that Hardison had brought over. It would do.

Reading the ingredients as the preservative laden and artificially flavored food heated, he snorted, boggling at the fact that somehow, Hardison thought it was palatable.

 _Wasn't raised with no sense_ , he thought, and without warning, food was the last thing on his mind.

There was a woman Hardison called Mama, and his foster mom, Nana, who had no idea what had happened to him.

For all Eliot knew, they were sitting worried by their phones, waiting to hear from him. Because Hardison was the type to check in. But he couldn't now, because he was being held hostage, in some room somewhere. He was probably going hungry, tonight.

Because Eliot had done it again.

It was the same thing he'd done to his own sister. Screwed up her life by virtue of his own.

He was overcome with the need to pick up the phone and call her, but it wasn't like she'd tell him _it's okay, everything's fine, no hard feelings_. She'd had to become another person, had to give up everything. It was unlikely she had enough left in her to forgive him.

And maybe he could do better by Hardison, but he didn't know anything, really, about Nana or Hardison's mom, not even enough to find them, or to know if he should _try_. He only knew that there was another family out there, whoever they were, falling apart because of him.

The tray burned his fingers when he pulled it from the microwave, and he chemical smell of molten plastic filled the kitchen. Tossing it down on the counter, he didn't bother to make sure it didn't spill, because he was already sliding down to the floor.

Back pressed hard against the cabinets, eyes catching on the grit running along the floorboards, he decided that sometime in the next century, he'd really need to sweep and mop. Hell, maybe he needed to napalm the entire damned house, because yeah, maybe he was losing it a little bit, here, but of all the messes he'd ever made, it didn't fucking matter.

\---

Alec tried not to let his ego get the best of him, but at least the situation was helping on that front. He felt like some neglected household pet, locked in a busted up elevator and accepting the fast food bag and soda they passed through.

It was root beer, sort of flat, and the fries were stale, but he didn't complain. Wasn't like they couldn't just decide to not feed him. They could take away the couch, as well. Or kill him, just as easily.

Actually, it would be easier to just ice him. The couch was fairly large, awkward, and looked heavy. His dead body would be easier to move, if they decided to go to the bother.

So he ate, staring at the grid of the gate and trying not to see past it. It was easier when he could ignore his captors, the matter-of-fact way they handled the situation, guns at hand, barely sparing him a second look. Like he wasn't anything more than the nasty couch he sat on.

He sipped his drink and made like he didn't know exactly what a nonentity he was. He was only a body, filling in until they could get the one they wanted, not worth the effort.

If he were more the noble type, maybe a bit tougher, he'd say it wasn't much of a relief.

But actually? It kind of was.

\---

He spent the day watching the clock creep onwards from calm to panic to calm again. He packing supplies, making sure he knew where the ropes were, and checked that he had easy access to the bandages and bottled water.

He cleaned the gun and checked the ammo. Replaced it in the bag a seventh time, because he'd already gone through six instances of unpacking it. Zipped the bag shut with finality. He'd rather have it and not use it, given the choice.

He left his house before he could change his mind again. They'd be getting the call, soon, in a few hours, and there would be no time for hesitation.

It wasn't something he'd explained, before, and he had no plans to, because there'd be time enough for the team's disappointment later, but if it came down to it, he could play the triggerman again.

\---

He was circling the block again, trying to find a place to park by Nate's, when his phone rang. He wasn't expecting to see Hardison's number on the caller ID. Not yet. Not for another hour or eternity at least.

And after everything, all that waiting, suddenly, this was it.

Careful to watch the road, he took a breath and answered. "Hardison?"

"Eliot. Hey," Hardison said, like he was calling about the weather, and for a split second there, everything was fine. But it was fleeting. "You're on speaker phone, so keep it clean. The friendly man with the gun wants me to pass a message along."

He was listening carefully, even before he spoke. "Okay, shoot."

"I'm going to presume you mean _me talk_ , not _them shoot_ ," Hardison quipped, suddenly irritated, and Eliot cringed as he waited for the sound of gunfire, but it never came. Hearing Hardison take a breath, he knew what he was about to say.

"You have twenty four hours to get to Manhattan."

Or maybe he didn't. " _Manhattan_?"

"Yeah. Keep your phone on. I gotta go."

" _Wait_ -" Eliot scrambled, but he was too slow. The connection was terminated. He called back, needing to know that he'd heard wrong, needing Hardison's voice, needing this _not_ to be happening.

\---

Parker snapped her head up again, to look blearily around, before sitting up straight and scratching her nose. Her attempts to stay awake were starting to fail, an inversion of Eliot's attempts to fall asleep. The road was a lulling low hum, and it was dark, but even after an hour and a half, stuck in the backseat of the Rover, he still couldn't gear down. Every time he thought he had his thoughts nailed down, they got away again.

Whenever his eyes lit on something outside the window, a storefront, an exit sign, another tract of incomplete suburban McMansions, he added a new backdrop to another bloody scenario, but never managed to change the results.

 _Hardison kneeling in a dead-end alley, a gun to the back of his head, beaten bloody. A utility van hiding them from the street's view, blocking off their exit._

He'd been ready for a lot of things, accounted for every double and triple cross, prepared for every endgame switch, but he hadn't expected to be doing _nothing_. When he'd told the others about the call, Sophie had flailed and Parker had scoped the windows. Nate had paced the room, working on plan Q or R.

But it had only lasted ten or fifteen minutes. The train wouldn’t have been all that much faster than driving, this time of night, and there would be no questions regarding their supplies, so somewhere, the decision had been made. He'd helped Parker load it all into Sophie's Range Rover. Ropes. Harnesses. Fake IDs and a duffel bag full of cash, just in case. Nate's laptop, and Sophie's suitcase. The bag he'd brought with him and the gun he'd expected to be using by now.

 _An empty parking lot, reaching the halfway point as the bullet finds him from a dark window across the street._

He tried to focus on what was real. Nate, up front, driving and murmuring the occasional comment about some book he and Sophie had apparently both read. Eliot hadn't caught the title, and wasn't really up for conversation, anyway. Didn't seem right.

 _Crossing a bridge, his own shadow cutting through the headlight's glare as he slowly approached the other car. Too bright to pick his target, the gun in his waistband heavy against his skin. Passing within feet of Hardison coming the other way, and not once seeing his face._

They pulled over to fill the tank and stretch their legs, but nobody said anything. It was late, starting to rain, and Sophie got in on the driver's side, this time.

 _Maybe a junkyard, like the one they just passed. Towers of rusted out old cars and refrigerators, the tripwire that would detonate the charge that would bring them tumbling down. Not enough time to warn the others._

Parker was toying with something, now. Palming and back palming her earpiece, trying to stay occupied. If Hardison were there, there was no telling if he'd be yelling at her to stop playing with the tech, or watching, impressed, and trying to one-up her, laughing.

 _Hardison, dodging his eyes like a stranger, or worse, meeting him head on, bloody and challenging and hateful, their message clear._

You did this to me.

Nate was snoring, up in the front seat, quiet enough that Eliot was only alerted to it when Parker leaned over the seat with her phone to snap a ridiculous number of pictures. She probably would have gotten more had Sophie not chimed in with "Parker, don't you think that's quite enough? You're blocking the rearview."

He was a little more at ease when she sat back and leaned over to show him the unflattering shots, grinning conspiratorially at him like they'd gotten away with something. He must not have shown the required enthusiasm, however, because she cocked her head at him, shifting a bit closer.

"You think he's okay?"

 _No._ Because for all the circles Eliot had been running in, the fact remained that Hardison had guns on him and wasn't the type that saw the value in keeping his mouth shut, not when there were so many jokes to be made. There was something about guns that tended to make their owners lose their sense of humor.

Biting back his sarcasm, he answered carefully, not wanting to be heard. "Dunno. He'd _better_ be." Because it was easier to be irritated with him than it was to worry about him. And it was easier to think about the bad scenarios that hadn't happened, yet, than it was to comprehend the current reality.

Hardison was probably bleeding and bruised, sporting a concussion or worse. Cold, hungry, confused, and only there because Eliot couldn't keep his past in the past.

She nodded, and that seemed to be the end of it, but it wasn't. "I hate this, you know," she admitted, warily, like she really thought it required explanation. "Worrying all the time. It's all we ever do anymore."

"Yeah." He hated sitting there, watching the frost that was just starting to gather on the side of the road, because the alternative was watching Parker trying not to look scared.

He couldn't keep doing this to people.

\---

 _Not in the elevator anymore, but the cell in Pennsylvania. Eliot's there, close enough to see flush-heated skin and press fingers into pulse points as he leans in again._

His eyes slip closed as Eliot's hair brushes along his throat, followed by stubble, lips tracing his from his ear down to his shoulder. Dull scratches of nails on his hips he pulls Eliot closer, down, the press of bodies not loud enough to drown out the sound of the clock but they're trying, and it will be fine as long as he doesn't open his eyes again.

But they do, and the timer says eight, then seven, and there's just enough time for Eliot to pull away and ask, "You couldn't just get this one thing right?" before the explosion comes.

Shooting upright, Alec fell back again, trying to catch his breath, his response dying in his throat.

 _At least it's quiet_ , he stared at the metal grate. It wasn't anything Parker's tools couldn't handle. He contemplated it for a few moments, wondering if his brain would force him back to sleep, or let him to stay up long enough to puzzle it out. Find a weak join somewhere, just enough to bend and break back. Get a hand through, then an arm.

Because thinking about the dream? _So_ not happening.

He probably would have been able to pull it off, were it not for the applause.

Struggling up again, he squinted through the gate to see Dog standing at the other side, his hands slowing to silence once more.

"Nightmares? That was the most interesting thing you've done since you got here."

Forgetting that sass probably wouldn't help the cause, he replied. "Glad to oblige. I sincerely do hope that you get a chance to try it yourself, soon."

"Not likely," Dog said, returning to his post, "but I'll be sure to record it next time. I'm sure Spencer will find it interesting."

 _If he shows_ , Alec's brain supplied, before he could stop it.

Because yeah, they were crew. And maybe Eliot was a little more. But it wasn't like there were any guarantees. No undying declarations of promised hostage extrications. Not even an indication that this was the most fucked situation Eliot had ever found himself in.

 _'Cause it probably isn't._

Making out in a hotel room, awesome as it was, didn't change anything.

 _Keep cool. That ain't him. And this ain't you._

Maybe if Eliot had said more than five words, Alec would have a clue. But those few words had been short, downright terse, even for him. Not enough to discern the meaning, and about as informative as a book with no pages.

Maybe if he'd dawdled some more, hadn't been such a coward, he could have gotten a sixth word, maybe even a seventh, and maybe he'd know.

 _Fucking New York_ , though, was all the answer he had.

\---

Gathered in Nate's hotel room, finally in New York, they were running it down. Spinning scenarios and running down the possible responses in turn. Parker kept diligent notes, while Sophie and Nate took the lead, and Eliot found himself getting drawn in despite himself.

It was the pre-game for a job, and nothing like it at all.

They weren't usually running it at three in the morning, for one.

Mostly, though, without Hardison there, giving them the exact information they needed five hours before it was needed, it was an idle way to pass the time. There was no way to predict what would happen, no way to control the future until it arrived, but at least it felt like they were doing something.

They weren't supposed to need placebos, but Eliot didn't mention it. But he couldn't tell them what the real plan was, either, or how many bullets it would take. Leaning against the wall and scratching at his greasy hair, he tried to appear attentive.

"I see where you're going with it, Parker, but it won't work," Nate yawned. "Our guy's smart, stays two steps away from the mess. Doesn't get his hands dirty. Besides. Nicola knows our faces."

"So we bring in someone he doesn't know," Sophie paused, as if to go on, but Parker broke into sudden arm waving. Nate, his patience worn as thin as Eliot's own, ignored her.

"Sophie? Do you have someone in mind?"

"Well," Sophie trailed off, but apparently Parker's patience had run out.

She jumped to her feet in one fluid motion, nearly spilling her soda. Her excitement, however, flagged the instant she had their attention, and she hesitated. "What about Apollo?"

" _Apollo_?" Nate's tone was derisive.

"Yeah." Her tone was a little stronger now, insistent. "He's in town."

Sophie was about to ask her how she knew, that much was plain, but Nate didn't give her the chance. "What about Dayan? She could have told Nicola all about him."

But Parker had something, there. Worth consideration, at least, because it couldn't be any worse than some of the other plans being tossed about, especially that thing with the ice cream truck. And if he played along now, kept them distracted and off his trail, his own job would be easier, later.

Making sure he had Nate's attention, he spoke. "Her. _This_ line of work, you don't give out for free what you can get paid for next week."

Nate considered the angles for a moment more, before clapping his hands together. "Good enough for me. Worst-case scenario, Nicola still sees us coming, and we're only as bad off as we would be anyway, long as we're careful. How do we track him down?"

"What should I tell him?" Even if she was having some trouble freeing her phone from her tight pocket, Eliot wasn't sure that he'd seen Parker that enthusiastic about anything in a while.

"Ah. Right," Nate blinked, giving in, obviously to Sophie's dismay. "Parker, make the call."

\---

The guards were changing shifts, and a Starbucks cup was in the hand that wasn't holding the gun, so Alec figured it must be morning.

"He cause any problems?" Halitosis asked, and Cheap Sneakers shook his head as he tossed his paper aside and stood to stretch.

"He was sleeping. Didn't say much. Left you the crossword, there," like it was nothing

He choked his irritation down, because yeah, this was getting old, but _they_ sure as hell didn't need to know it.

Before Cheap Sneakers left, they escorted him out to the bathroom and back again, closely aware of him, clearly expecting another escape attempt, but there wasn't a need for it. Maybe it was because he was still tired, or hadn't eaten, or the guns, but he didn't even bother to cause a fuss when they shoved him back in the elevator.

It didn't mean he wasn't sitting in a funk on the nasty-ass couch, thinking about what he should have done. He wasn't in chains, he wasn't dosed, and he wasn't really all that outnumbered. But, and maybe it was time that he admitted it, he was in over his head.

He'd tried to pay attention, the few times Eliot gave him pointers on fighting, but they'd never covered tactics for when someone could pick you off from the other side of a jail cell.

Halitosis was sitting in the chair now, intent on the crossword.

At this point in the movie, he was probably supposed to be getting tortured, or something. Fucked with. But it just didn't happen. Nothing did.

After an hour or two, he stood up, pretending not to notice the sudden close attention on him, and stretched his back. Tried to man up, will himself into _some_ sort of action. Find his own fucking spine.

He sat back down, on the other side of the couch this time, just for variety's sake.

\---

In sixteen or seventeen hours, as long as Nicola's crew didn't fuck around, he'd be turning himself in. Checking over his shoulder to make sure Hardison and the others had cleared the area, and if he was still alive at that point, it was because whoever else was left in the room was incapacitated.

Maybe dead, and if he was still breathing two minutes later, he'd need an exit strategy, and he'd have to move fast. Odds were, the others would try and intervene. He couldn't allow that complication.

Mostly, if it went out of control, he didn't want to see their faces when they saw his, after.

But he could do this. He'd done it before. Whoever Nicola was, it was probably catalyst for everything that had brought him to this point.

At least some good would come of it. Hardison, alive and out in the world, with half a chance for safety. He probably wouldn't forgive him, not this time around, but he'd be out there.

Eliot wondered if he'd have a chance to say goodbye, in the moments before it all went down. Apologize.

 _Fuck, you barely had a chance to say hello_.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and wished he was looking at Hardison's face instead. Missing him too much, and he hadn't even lost him yet. Not really. There was losing him the way he'd done, and losing him the way he was about to. This time, it would be under his own control, but it was going to hurt a hell of a lot.

Because this time, Eliot wasn't even leaving as the man that Hardison knew, but going out like the man he used to be.

If there was any coming back from something like this, he'd only find out later.

He doubted it.

The instinct to twist his wrist, bring the barrel to his mouth and just _squeeze_ was almost too much to resist, so he set the gun down on the mattress, nausea crashing over him.

He wasn't a fucking coward. He was sitting up again, one hand hanging onto the edge of the mattress with a white-knuckled grip, the other clawing at his collar tugging at the sling's clasp, but he wasn't a fucking coward, and in sixteen or seventeen hours, there were things that needed setting right.

\---

The guards, no, henchmen. No. Assholes with _guns_ were placing their bets. Dog had a hundred on Eliot showing up, while Halitosis anted the same, guessing that he wouldn't. The discussion derailed for a while afterwards, while they debated the pros and cons of various locations for dumping Alec's dead body. It was a while before Cheap Sneakers got to throw in- Eliot would show, but they'd be burying two bodies.

Alec was tempted to raise them five hundred each that they'd all have fingers to broken to go for their wallets to pay out, but it felt like bravado, so he kept his mouth shut.

Part of him wanted to attract their attention, see if they'd let him get out and use the can, but casual as they seemed, interrupting probably wasn't the best route to take.

At least they were in good spirits. Had to beat the alternative. He'd chill.

He didn't have to wait long. Right about the time he was starting to consider trying to climb the walls, Dog's phone rang.

"Yeah. You're in? Okay….yeah. We can have him there in an hour. Right." He hung up the phone, and nodded to the others. Cheap Sneakers ground his cigarette into the concrete and came towards the elevator.

"All right. Here's how it plays out. We're going on a trip, and you're going to be on your best behavior."

"Or what, I don't get no ice cream?" Their answering glares would have shut him up quickly enough, though the readying of all three guns was a nice touch.

"Move."

"Yo man, look. I don't know how long a trip it is, but I gotta piss."

Cheap Sneakers pulled a face, and Halitosis looked to Dog for the answer, before waving him towards the bathroom.

He'd gotten over the indignity of pissing with the door open a day or so back. Nothing major, just the sort of thing you did when you didn't feel like sitting around in urine-soaked jeans. They were already ripe enough as it was, probably.

But. He had to get back in the game, here. Get himself ready. Think. He already knew damned well there was no real way out of this, but the situation was about to change. They'd be moving back towards the van, and then at least one of them would be riding up front. They'd be in traffic. They'd have to stop, at some point, wait for the traffic to cross.

At some point, he'd have another shot. Just had to keep cool. Get his game face on.

He zipped himself up and made sure his face was back to worn complacency before turning to face them.

\---

"So where are we going?"

"Like you don't know."

"Actually-"

Dog waved his gun towards the inside of the van. "Shut up and get in."

"Yeah," Halitosis chimed in from too damned close as he climbed in after him. "Chill out, kid. Ain't no reason for you to be making this hard on yourself. We've done all right by you, and you know it."

"You _kidnapped_ me, how's that-"

Dog slid into the driver's seat, up front, and called over his shoulder. "Do you _really_ want to know how much worse it could've been?"

Despite himself, Alec discovered that he was shaking his head. He didn't need them telling him that. He'd already seen the movie.

He remained very still, trying not to rock with the movement as the van turned and sped up, trying to pay attention.

If he stayed focused, he could get himself out of this.

Any minute now, there'd be a distraction. Halitosis would turn his attention to a passing streetlight, or Cheap Sneakers would reach down to mess with the stereo, and all eyes would be off him.

He just had to be ready. Stay aware. Concentrate.

Quit thinking about the wager the assholes had already made, and the likelihood of one of them collecting on it. Quit thinking that Eliot might not show up. Quit hoping that he would.

But he couldn't win, not really. His options weren't that great.

Either he could hate himself for wishing that Eliot would come in, fucking _hand himself over_ , or he could hate Eliot for falling for something so obvious in the first place. Hate himself for his traitorous impulses, or hate him for his lack.

Or he could get his head in the fucking game, and for once, maybe, handle things himself.

Soon as he got the chance.

\---

After an hour or two, his left foot was asleep and he was wondering if they were driving in circles, hoping to obfuscate their destination. But something was about to happen. Halitosis, especially, looked anxious, twitchy. Even closed his mouth to breathe for a while.

They'd hit traffic, Alec realized, as the van slowed, then sped up again as a green light flashed across the rear window as he rocked to the side. They were going around a corner, and this would be the moment Eliot would have chosen to make his move. Catch them while they're physically off balance, even that little bit would give him the advantage.

Parker wouldn't have waited for the van to slow down.

So he had it. Enough of a semblance of a plan, and as long as he didn't do anything stupid, like give himself away, or move too soon, he could rock this.

They were slowing down again, and easing into the turn, and-

"We're here," Dog stated, smirking as the van ground to a halt.  



	17. Chapter 17

  
Nate had fallen silent a while ago, the last of his calls to outdated contacts completed.

Eliot tried to concentrate on the map in front of him, but it was getting harder to concentrate. Without Hardison to guide them, they were going to need all the help they could get, and without his running monologue breaking the hush so easily, they'd already been smothered under the weight of it.

Setting the atlas he'd picked up downstairs aside, he peeked down at his phone. It was nearly three, though the sky outside the hotel room window was beginning to darken, becoming overcast.

He could see Nate out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of his bed and contemplating Sophie's nervous pacing, the only motion in the room. Every few circuits, she'd pause to flick the already open curtain aside and look out the window, her expression pinched and drawn. It had been going on for a while now, and it wouldn't have been irritating if he'd never noticed.

They'd _all_ been quiet since arriving at the hotel, but her silence was louder, and eventually it was all too much.

"What's up?" Eliot finally asked Nate, startling Parker, who glanced up from her subway map until she determined that she wasn't the one being discussed, her attention a thousand miles away.

Nate turned his notepad for Eliot to see, not taking his eyes off Sophie as she flicked the curtain aside again. The emptiness of the page was proof enough of his results, empty and unsurprising.

Eliot stretched in his seat and waited, phone in hand, wondering if he was the only one missing Hardison so damned much.

\---

Cheap Sneakers had stayed behind with the van while Dog and Halitosis shepherded him through the loading dock doors. They'd hung left, and gone down a concrete block hallway until they'd reached the door at the end. There hadn't been anything there to indicate where he was, no signage or bits of trash or anything, just bluish fluorescent light in the ceilings. Manhattan was still a good bet, though, and an office basement was likely.

They'd shoved him through the door and locked him inside, alone, and he'd tried the heavy door once, but it hadn't given way. He hadn't expected it to.

They'd left the lights on, at least, even if the room was cold and unfurnished. There was nothing worth exploring, no windows, no wires, no other doors. No cameras. Just the flat glare of fluorescent light and a rusted stain on the wall, coming down from a vent with too small an opening for even Parker to fit through.

There was nothing to do besides pace and wait and wish for information that wasn't coming. He paced for a long time, wondering what the others were up to, but he couldn't even imagine, any more. Vague imaginings of costume changes and the pocketing of keys, Nate's terse orders and Parker's quick fingers. Sophie's mouth sliding into the smile that would pave the way and the tension easing from Eliot's back as he prepared to attack the next opponent, kicking an empty gun to the side, out of reach.

 _Get real, man_.

 _Thugs blasting through the door to grab him, slamming him into the wall. Eliot being thrown in, stumbling to a bloody heap, inert on the floor. Maniacal laughter and the flashing of blades._

Because the Eliot in his head wasn't the Eliot that was out in the world, with an arm tied down and shadows under eyes hidden by a cap pulled low against the cold. Slow moving, if he was even there at all. If he hadn't already slipped out the back.

Eventually, an hour or a day later, he was sitting against the wall, too tired and frustrated and _far_ too fucking close to tears to even fight it anymore.

 _The door opens, and Dog steps aside for a shorter man to pass through. Pristine and cold and dressed all in black. Smiling in mild amusement as he says, "Sorry kid. He never showed. Nothing personal," as he takes aim._

There was noise, outside in the hallway, just enough warning for him to get off his ass by the time the door was open and a voice was announcing "Alec Hardison. I presume you know who I am?"

\---

Nicola wasn't at all what Alec had expected.

 _Thought he'd be taller,_ he noted, taking in the thinning hair and the beginnings of a paunch. Were it not for the expensive suit, he would have resembled one of a hundred burned-out social service workers that Alec had could only barely remember.

His eyes slid around the room as he entered, taking in the stains and the walls and the claustrophobic nothingness.

Avoiding him, so Alec had to start. "You wanna tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Of course," Nicola sighed, deliberately giving the impression of a man who wasn't in control of the universe. Alec didn't buy it for a second. "In a few hours, Spencer will turn himself over to us, and you will go free."

"Right," Alec didn't believe him.

"You're of no interest to me, you know. As long as you refrain from doing something… _irresponsible_ , and as long as you're not betrayed, you will come to no harm."

"What about Eliot?" Alec rocked his head back to look down his nose before he realized what he was doing, and that was the moment Nicola chose to finally look at him straight on.

"We'll see, won't we?"

He was prepared to see coldness in those eyes, but there was none, just resigned acceptance and the hint of something manic. Jekyll waiting for Hyde to emerge.

For the first time in this entire fuckstorm of elevators and couches and boredom, he was catching onto the one thing he'd missed.

Total fucking terror.

\---

As expected, it was Hardison's number on the caller ID when the phone finally rang.

"Eliot?"

"Are you okay?"

"Uh, fine. All four of you are supposed to be at the Carlyle Hotel at seven." _He's scared. Shit._ "Wear something nice."

"Okay, just keep-" Eliot began, but the line had already gone dead. _Fuck_. The others were watching him closely. "The Carlyle in two hours. Sounds formal."

" _Really_ ," Sophie was incredulous. "That's a strange place for a hostage exchange."

Nate slid into the chair to pull up the hotel's website. "Ah, okay," he muttered, after a moment. "There's a big charity banquet and awards ceremony going on tonight in the Trianon Suite." He shook his head in annoyance. "Nicola's running the same game that we ran on Geffin."

"We're going to need clothes," Parker said, upending her duffel bag onto the floor. Jeans, a sweatshirt, a couple of harnesses, but no evening gowns, and she eyed Nate's suitcase speculatively. "I mean, we could-"

"Don't start," Eliot grumbled, trying to remember what he'd packed. He'd been expecting to be burning the clothes he'd been wearing, just another pair of jeans and a few warm shirts. Set of sweats, just in case Hardison needed them.

"We don't all live in suits," Parker complained, examining a tee shirt up skeptically as she pulled out her phone.

Sophie set her shoulders back, eying Nate determinedly. "Give me an hour. I can have Eliot, Parker, and myself set, there's a wonderful boutique just down-"

"Fine," Nate waved her off. "Can you think of anything else we need?"

"Tasers. Oh, and Apollo," Parker remembered, heading out into the hallway to get him on the line, missing the looks that were exchanged as she left.

Eliot watched the Nate and Sophie impatiently, because yeah, it was great that Parker might have something going on with this guy, but really, they needed to head out and start recon. "Nate, I'll go over-"

"We're going to have Apollo scoping the place out."

Sophie sorted through the comm. earpieces until she found one that was to her liking, carefully nonchalant as she said, "I don't mean to beat a dead horse, but we don't _know_ him."

"Parker hasn't stabbed him with a fork yet, it's enough for me," Nate tapped at the screen with his pen before scrawling another note as he read. "Right now, I'm more concerned about this fundraiser, see. The website says it's invite only. Sophie, this sounds like your area of expertise once again."

"What's the charity?"

"The Rigg Foundation. Whoever they are."

She collected her purse from the end table. "Find me their number and send it to my phone, I'll make the calls on the way. Eliot, you take a size seventeen collar, correct?

"Yes ma'am," he replied, already starting to wince because her eyes were still on him as she stepped out into the hallway, right into Parker's path. Both stumbled, but the only casualty was Sophie's purse, which tumbled to the floor.

Watching Parker crouch and scramble for the spilled contents, handing them to an apologetically sheepish Sophie, Eliot felt his hands become fists. _We seriously don't have the time for this shit._ He scowled in Nate's direction, finding him too engrossed in his screen to commiserate.

Sophie finally cleared the door and Parker was left standing there, a puzzled frown on her face as she slid her phone back into her pocket. "He's on his way over. Should be there by the time we're getting ready…" She trailed off, like there was more, but when she didn't immediately continue, Nate took over.

"All right," he spun back from the computer, picking up his phone. "You two just chill out for a bit, do whatever you need to do. I'm getting the number for Sophie, then grabbing a shower."

Eliot was pushing himself away from the wall when Parker coughed. "Uh, guys?"

"What?"

"Why does Sophie already have a pamphlet about the Carlyle in her purse?"

"I don't know, must've picked it up downstairs?" Evidently Nate was having trouble keying the message into the phone.

"In the lobby of a competing hotel?" Parker asked, and Eliot got where she was going with it, just before he saw Nate freeze. "You think she picked it up earlier?"

"Yeah sure," Eliot reasoned, looking towards Nate to answer, "but why would she do that?"

"How the hell should I-" Nate gave up then, and sat down heavily on the bed. "You're sure about what you saw?"

"Yes." Parker crossed her arms, rocking on the balls of her feet.

"You got any idea what it means?" Eliot asked, because he didn't want to be the one to have to answer.

"Yeah." Nate raised his head to study each of them in turn, and it was clear that he was trying to exude some sort of confident calm, but it wasn't working. "It means we've got the advantage. I don't know what the hell she's up to, but at least we're not going in blind. Well. Yeah, we are, but. Not. You know what I mean."

He sighed, heavily, all traces of amusement long gone by the time he spoke them again. "Okay. You two. I'm serious. I know that I always say it and you ignore it anyway," his eyes shifted to Parker. "But this time, no kidding, I need you both to follow my lead on this. We're two down, and compromised already."

"So we're just going to play along?"

"Yeah, actually." Nate frowned. "Hardison, right now. He is our main concern. We'll deal with Sophie as it comes, but. I need to know that the both of you will be okay with this. This won't work, unless… Look. I know that we don't have much of a unified front right now. I can't be worrying about the two of you going off the rails."

"You got it," Eliot said, heading out into the hallway. _But nothin' about this is okay._

\---

This was all kinds of fucked up. They had the intel he'd been waiting for, and in a few hours, they'd- _he'd_ be doing a hostage exchange, and instead of running down a real plan, Sophie was either shopping for party clothes or meeting with the enemy, and he was stuck in his room, showering and brushing his teeth like it was any other day.

He'd just finished shaving when the phone went off. He wasn't ready for the sudden vertigo, the surety that more bad news was coming, but when he looked at the display, it was merely a text from Nate.

 _You doing alright?_

Eliot snorted. He was sitting in a hotel room, passing the time before going out to kill or be killed. There was really no good way to answer, so he tossed the phone on the bed and crossed from the bed to the window and back again.

Testing his range of movement, he stretched his arm as he paced, carefully, breathing deep against the pull. It still hurt, and he'd probably be out of breath by the time anything even got started, but he was damned if he was putting the sling back on before he had to. Might mean another trip to the hospital, but the hospital beat the morgue, no doubt about it.

 _Just so long as we're straight on that,_ his brain pointed out, reminding him in no unclear terms just how close he'd come to losing it entirely last night.

The gun was in the nightstand, and he slid the drawer open carefully, daring it to make him react. That he wished it _would_ was a humorless realization, but it was inert, now.

He could do this.

All he had to do was get to it. Extract Hardison, make sure the team got out, and whatever came next really didn't matter. Dead meant dead, and alive meant leaving. That was all. If he got some answers on the way out, figure out why the hell it had all come to this, he could tell himself it was enough.

There was a clicking sound, and the heater came on, and that was the sum of the world's reaction. It didn't care much, either.

And if he would have rather heard Hardison's voice right then, or been able to tell everyone goodbye or whatever, it wasn't a big deal.

But if he didn't get back to Nate, he'd just wind up barging in, and the mindset Eliot had just begun to carefully maintain would shift again. He texted _yeah_ in response and shut the ringer off. He'd turn it on again in a while.

There were a lot of things he still needed to figure out, a few loose ends. How to play this without bringing anyone else down with him, how to apologize. Sophie's involvement in all of this, but it wasn't central. Hardison.

He wouldn't know for a while yet- there was no way to- but he had time enough to make sure the gun was loaded.

\---

Sophie was three minutes late, but if she felt the tension in the room when they were all gathered gain, she didn't show signs, too busy distributing garment bags and telling Parker how to do her hair. Acting like nothing was different, nothing was wrong.

She smiled warmly at Eliot as she held out the suit she'd bought for him, and he'd gone into his room to change. When he presented himself in Nate's room again, Sophie insisted on fixing his tie, chattering happily, and he had to force himself not to scream at how calculated it felt.

"It's so _exciting_ ," she enthused, straightening his collar, working it carefully around the sling. "Don't you think?"

"What d'you mean?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Going in to rescue Hardison. Sound familiar?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be a blast." He wasn't sure why he was stepping back, if it was suspicion, wariness of her tone, or what. And of course, she picked up on it.

"Eliot, really. You mustn't keep acting like you're expecting us to blame you for any of this. We're all going to be okay, soon enough."

Well, she'd picked up on _something_ , at least. He wished he had Nate's ability to know when Sophie was conning someone, and even caught Nate watching them intently, but there was no telling what was going through the man's mind.

In ten minutes, they'd be leaving, and he still needed to get back to grab his gun.

\---

 _Chill, man. You already knew he was insane. You knew this was coming. So did the crew, and they're all on their way._

Hardison knocked his head against the wall in time to the seconds that weren't really counting down, and rubbed at his eyes.

 _It'll be bad, yeah. It'll be worse if you don't man the hell up_.

He could do this. He could wait for his moment, and this time, he wouldn't miss it.

 _But Eliot._

He took a breath and held it, letting it out slowly. _Your ass is locked in a basement by the next Jeffrey Dahmer, man. You got bigger problems. Like surviving._

He'd just keep telling himself that.

\---

Sophie led them to the registration tables where guests were picking up programs and meandering in the general direction of the coat check area. She picked up the envelope of nametags and distributed them once they were away from the table.

"Doctor Albert Graydon? Seriously?"

"Hey, at least you're a doctor," Eliot grumbled, fumbling to drape the elastic over his neck. Glancing down as he pulled the plastic tag free of the sling, he shifted his arm, covering the gun more completely, and looked to Parker, who also got to be a doctor.

Sophie, of course, was playing Nate's trophy wife, and responding to Parker's complaint about the tags. "You don't go attaching stickers to three thousand dollar dresses, dear."

"But it could get caught on something," Parker was saying, her head swiveling to follow Nate, who was heading back towards registration, to wait behind a woman in a fur coat.

Edging up next to him, Parker asked, "What's he doing?" and for a moment it felt like the turnaround, when all would be revealed to make perfect sense. Another case of Nate knowing the score before the game was half over with.

 _Maybe there's hope_ , Eliot admitted as he made his way to catch up, but Nate was talking to the woman working the table, his voice carrying a haughty edge. "I was wondering. Has Eliot Spencer's party checked in yet?"

A moment later and an unconcerned shake of the head from a stranger, and Nate nodded, as if the news were expected. He didn't speak until they were heading inside.

"Yeah, they were ready for us." He admitted, but smiled at Sophie. "Guess we didn't need you to get us in." How Nate could be so relaxed about it was beyond Eliot, so he turned to watch the crowd instead.

Nate knew as well as Eliot did that his plan, whatever it was, was already slipping, and he looked like he was waiting more heavily than usual for Parker's response. "Before we go in, where are we at?"

"Apollo's going to-" Parker was interrupted by a man jostling past in a black suit and turtleneck, who was already heading inside by the time Eliot caught sight of him.

Parker opened the program she held to reveal the note inside, and smiled. "He's on comms, now." She slipped the program and its contents into her oversized purse, next to the computer drives.

"Hey folks, welcome to the show," Apollo's voice sounded in Eliot's ear. "It's going down in the back basement. Loading dock entrance, underneath the garage. Cameras are functioning and the security team watching the cameras looks a little suspicious. I'm heading back to check it out."

 _Back basement_. It was the last piece Eliot needed, and he began to turn, but Nate's grip on his arm stopped him.

"Hold up. You head down there now, you're jumping the gun and you know it. Let him do his thing, get us more info."

" _Nate_ ," Eliot floundered, furious.

Nate leaned in, cocking his head casually up ahead at Sophie. "You want them to kill Hardison? I'm really damned sorry, but it's the best play and you know it."

Too furious to answer, Eliot stalked towards the reception, keeping his eyes open for an exit.

\---

They walked into the middle of some guy's speech. Eliot read the room, looking for the telltale glints of guns that had no place being there, but too often were. He found none, but it failed to set him at ease.

"Though my time at the Rigg Foundation has been short, I've had the honor of working alongside some of the kindest and most generous people around the world. These are people who take their idealism and make it into reality. It is one of these people who it is my pleasure to introduce tonight, as the presenter of this year's Peck ham Award, Linda King.

He didn't know where all the cameras were, or who, exactly, was watching them. Once upon a time, it wouldn't have even registered. He hadn't even realized he'd been taking it for granted all this time.

It was too quiet- not the room, so packed with people and politely unobtrusive music, but on the line.

He gave his earpiece a light tap and found it working, but there was a loud noise on the wire as they slid across the back of the room, a little too close to the engineer working the boards for the sound system, and Eliot wasn't the only one that flinched,.

Hardison would have been on a roll by now, detailing the ridiculousness of some woman's dress, or some other inconsequential detail that would've driven Eliot nuts, anyway. He _missed_ it, though. Missed Hardison's voice enough that it twisted, too much.

"Yeah, we, ah, have to go with the presets tonight, gang. Our producer is, ah...."

"Indisposed?"

Nate nodded in irritated agreement. "Parker, Sophie? Circulate, but, ah, Parker? Keep it cool." Eliot rolled his eyes in annoyance and hoped Nate hadn't just given everything away.

"What do we do now?" Eliot kept his eyes on the stage, watching a nervously smiling blonde cross with note cards in one hand as the other came up to pat at her hair as she headed for the dais.

"We sit here and listen to a boring speech, apparently," Nate scratched at his chin and tugged at his collar, loosening it slightly. "Keep an eye out, anyone sees anything, you tell me."

Eliot looked over to see Parker glaring a hole into the back of Sophie's head as she followed close behind. Remembering _why_ she was so intent should have made it worse, but he was already too sick to notice.

\---

Alec thought he heard voices rising outside the door, thought _this is it_ , but again, nothing happened.

Nicola had been lurking outside the door since their brief meeting, occasionally giving hushed orders that Alec strained and failed to hear. Every once in a while, his shadow passed back or forth through the gap beneath the door.

He'd been relieved when Nicola left, just moments before, but now, he wasn't so sure.  
Just a few feet on the other side of the door paced a tired man with a mean streak, waiting on some last vital detail.

If the straw that broke the camels back came when Alec couldn't see it, he couldn't prepare. But he tried, anyway, tapping out the seconds on his knee, telling himself to be ready. Concentrating on the moves he'd have to make when his chance came. Enumerating every single silent signal Eliot had ever sent his way, telling him to run, stay down, or just get the hell out of the way. The slide of his eyes as he scanned his opponent, the smirk that crossed his face whenever he knew he had the advantage.

 _Focus, man. Ain't useful,_ he thought, but he didn't try over hard to fight them off.

\---

Apart from the occasional glance down at his phone, Eliot's eyes, like Nate's, were trained on Parker and Sophie as their circuit of the room brought them near again. From where he and Nate stood, as far from the engineering booth as they could be without getting lost in the swarm, the speakers overhead were loud enough that even with the intermittent noise on the line, it wasn't worth trying to talk.

There wasn't anything to talk about, anyway, and the woman onstage droned on.

"… hard to grasp the momentousness of what this really means to a community, and I don't have the experience to explain it. But it is my hope that the recipient of the Peckham Award may be able to succeed where I have failed. It is therefore my honor to introduce to you the Chief Medical Officer and Director of the Trevor Hastings Memorial Hospital in Kadwe, Doctor Edward Hastings."

There was another round of applause as a man took the stage, made of the same muscle-gone-soft that had formed his dad's brother out in Chicago. Eliot hadn't seen him since the funeral, but the man joining the blonde was twenty years too young, anyway.

And he was from _Kadwe_. If Eliot didn't ease his grip on the phone, he'd wind up crushing it. "Nate?"

"I know, Eliot, I." Nate waved his hands, his eyes not moving from the stage. "Guys?  
Quick geography lesson, anyone want to try and guess where Kadwe is?"

Sophie hurried over, Parker trailing behind, looking down at the program in her had. "Myanmar. Funny, the program doesn't say anything about-"

"Screw the damned program," Eliot hissed, trying to get a better look at the man rising from a packed table at the front of the room, and heading up onto the stage.

"You recognize him?"

"No. What do you think it means?"

Nate examined the doctor for a moment, and shrugged. "Well. I'm guessing that our guest of honor didn't come alone."

Doctor Hastings was finally in the midst of giving his impassioned thanks, and now that Eliot was paying attention, he could hear the slight overtones in his voice. He'd been a long time in Myanmar, all right, but judging by the dismayed expression Nate wore, Eliot wasn't the only one feeling like they were seeing it too late.

The doctor was stepping away from the microphone to wrap the woman in a hug as the room filled with applause once again. From where Eliot stood, he could just barely see her lips move, but there was no hearing what she said over the crowd.

Or there shouldn't have been.

"It's my pleasure, Doctor Hastings, really," a new voice spoke in his ear, but when he turned, he saw no one. It was feeding back through the speakers, too. "Thank you so much for all that you've done."

"What the hell?" Eliot spun, looking for Hardison's explanation, forgetting he wasn't there, and finding the others trying to hide the same surprise.

"How-" Parker's hand was rising to her ear when a hand caught her wrist, gently.

“Interference with the sound system," Nate explained, indicating the speakers and the soundboard.

“How do you fix it?” Parker looked to Eliot for an explanation.

“How the hell should _I_ know?"

"I don't know. How about you kids move away from the very large array of audio electronics?" Apollo's voice came over the comms, and for a minute it almost felt like Hardison was there. Parker almost smiled, and Nate rolled his eyes as the house lights came on and music began to play.

"It seems that they're done now," Sophie observed as they stepped towards the door. "I think we should probably ingratiate ourselves with the good doctor's entourage, don't you think?"

Eliot swiveled his head around to look. "I don't see him."

"Then we find him," Sophie stated. "The doctor wouldn't have gone far, would he?"

"Good thing you already know this place so well," Parker grumbled, and Sophie ground to a halt.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean." Parker looked nervously in Nate's direction, but continued. "You already know your way around. You knew about this place before we even _got_ here."

"Parker," Nate warned, pulling a face, but before he could continue, Sophie spun around to face Parker.

"I'm not sure I like your tone." Her tone was arch and patronizing.

"I'm not sure I like your _you_ ," Parker kicked at the long skirt she was wearing over her jeans and pointed an accusing finger at Sophie, ignoring Eliot's warning hiss. "You lied to us. You know more than you're saying. I saw the brochure."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Nate studied Sophie's face, an intense examination, and a moment later, he exploded.

"What the hell's going on?! You know, I can't believe this, you're running around behind our back-"

"No, Nate. I. I was meeting someone, all right?"

"Who?"

"A _friend_ , Sophie insisted. "A man, who has nothing at all to do with this."

"So why all the secrecy?"

"Habit? The fact that it's a crass thing to bring up, in the middle of all this?" Sophie replied, loud enough that some of the other guests were taking notice. "You."

" _Me_?" Nate sneered in disbelief. "What do I have to do with it?"

"Exactly." Sophie's smile was tight and humorless, and apparently, Nate saw right through it.

"You're lying. Right now. You're-" Nate looked like he was biting the inside of his mouth, keeping himself in check, and Eliot could feel the metal heavy against his own chest, and watched his world fall apart just a little bit more.

"I can't. Nate. We don't know who's listening, it could. I'm not working against you, here. You've got to believe me."

" _No_ , I do _not_ , actually."

"Just. Give me the chance to prove it-" She took her earpiece out and motioned for Nate and the others to do the same.

"You've got something to say? Have a plan? I'm sure we'd all like to hear it."

Sophie'd apparently had it. "So would _we_ , Nathan. This isn't a _plan_ , it's no strategy at all! We're simply here to deliver the sacrificial lamb, and you know it. As well as I."

"So what, you got a better idea? We've been fielding all offers for days, now Sophie. You got something, you should've told us already, or at least tell us _now_."

"You can trust me, Nate. I promise." Sophie was close to tears. Eliot wondered if they were real.

"Hardison's life is on the line, Eliot's too, and we've got you running a game on us, so I'd say the chances of _that_ happening are slim to none. What I can't see is _why_."

He was nearly shouting, gesticulating wildly as he gathered steam. He hadn't been this angry since the last time Sophie had screwed them. "Is. What are you playing at? Is this supposed to be a distraction? 'Cause I'm only interested in one thing. Nobody's going home dead tonight. So either you give us enough to work with, here, or you get the hell out-

"Fine," Sophie started to turn, glaring at each of them in turn. "I won't get in your way, and you don't get in mine." She tossed her earpiece at Nate's feet and stalked towards the doors, away from them.

Nate made as if to follow, but turned his glare instead at Parker, his facial muscles working rigorously at staying calm. "What did I tell you at the hotel?"

"I. I wasn't," Parker floundered, wilting as the reality of it hit her. "I thought that maybe I could find out what her angle was. If this went wrong, I. I didn't mean to ruin it." She sniffed once before pulling herself up to meet Nate's eyes for a long moment.

She didn't like what she found, and was halfway across the room before Eliot realized she'd left. "Great, they're both gone," he muttered. " _Nice._ "

Nate snorted, still glaring after Parker, and turned on his heel. "You're the _last_ one who should be talking right now, you know that?"

 _That's it._

There was only so much bullshit Eliot was willing to take, and he dodged ahead of him, forcing him to a standstill.

"You want me to go hunt these fuckers down? I can do that. You want me to do this clean? Wait for your orders? I can do that. I _am_ doing that. But you can't have it both ways. And I get it, man, I know what this is all about, but I don't have a goddamned time machine, and even if I _did_ -"

Even as he stared over Eliot's shoulder, the fight seemed to go out of him, but it felt too final. "Look. You need to focus. We'll sort everyone out or we won't, but right now-"  
The phone was vibrating in his hand, but he had to make sure Nate heard him, first. "We get through this last one…" he promised, and raised the phone to his ear.

\---

  
There was a sound, a metallic thump and a dragging sound, and then a small skittering. It was coming up from the left, from the vent set into the wall.

He checked again, but Nicola's shadow wasn't moving, and the murmur of his voice hadn't come to a dangerous halt, yet, so maybe…

Moving carefully, he eased himself into a crouch, before crossing the room to the vent, listening close. Another sound, indistinct, but quieter, coming from further away. Whatever it was, it was gone, but he hadn't misheard.

He tried to peer into the vent, but it was too dark to see more than a few inches. There was no movement, no flashes of light, no indication that Parker was up there. And he couldn't call out, not without alerting Nicola.

 _It's nothing_ , he tried to convince himself, but he didn't want to believe it.

There was another voice outside the door, now, Halitosis, maybe. He might have said something along the lines of "party's in full swing."

 _Party?_ There were people nearby.

That was good, that was something to know. Could be useful.

Or it could be nothing. He could have misheard, wishful thinking making him hear things. Like hearing a random noise inside the air ducts and assuming rescue was coming.

He snorted at his own idiocy and angrily glared again into the vent, at the dust crusting the edges, the dead fly caught at the edge. The screws holding the faceplate down, the bolt on the inside and the plastic behind it.

Laughter, from outside, and he was turning away in frustration before his brain supplied recognition of the plastic's form.

He looked again, carefully. It was an earpiece, there, caught behind the fittings three inches back. He shoved his fingers through the metal slats, feeling them pull hard at his skin and scrape painfully across his knuckles as he tried to reach, but he couldn't. He was stuck.

 _Think, man._ If he'd had a pen on him, or a paperclip, or a screwdriver, he'd have the thing in his hands already.

Pulling his fingers out again felt even worse, but he had proof of concept.

 _Hell, a damn Q-tip would work_.

He looked down at himself. They'd made him empty his pockets days ago, and left him with nothing. All he had were the clothes he'd worn to go meet Eliot, a century and a half ago. Slip on shoes, jeans, shirt and a hoodie.

The drawstring from the hood trailed down over his chest, the metal tips waving back at him as if to say "Hi, moron," and Alec grinned.

 _It's on, my friends_.

Keeping his eyes on the shadows under the door, he tugged the cord until he had enough length to work with, plan already forming. Running it along the middle and index fingers of his uninjured hand, he pinched it between them so the hard metal tip extended that last inch.

Taking a deep breath and looking over his shoulder, he reached back into the vent, trying not to imagine fingers too ruined to type. There was just enough space between the bolt and the wall that if he could knock the earpiece just a bit, it would slip through, and either hit the floor or get caught by the bottom slat.

He'd never been happier to be right about something, watching it slide down, even if he ripped his fingers out too roughly in his haste to extract it. He'd just caught the earpiece between his fingers when the door burst open behind him.

"Hey!" Nicola's voice raised a sharp alarm, and footsteps pounded across the concrete floor. "Hands on your head, asshole!"

Careful to only present his profile as he turned, his finished extracting the earpiece, still caught between his fingers, and palmed it as he slid his hands to the back of his head.

"That's the stupidest escape attempt I've ever seen," Halitosis grumbled, using his gun to wave Alec back against the far wall, his attention noting the sad state of his bloodied fingers, but giving no indication of having seen the device pressing into Alec's head, mere inches away from where it would be useful.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," Alec explained.

"Just keep your hands there." Dog ordered, going over to inspect the grate, which was bent out of shape, but clearly not enough to be useful. "And you, keep an eye on him. Anyhow," he addressed Nicola, "You ready to go?"

In answer, Nicola opened up the laptop he'd been carrying, and though Alec couldn’t' see the screen, he wasn't at all surprised to feel an intense surge of longing.

It was frustrating as hell. Two lines of communication, just inches out of reach.

He was distracted enough by his thoughts that he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"The charges are laid and live?"

 _Charges?_

"Yes sir," Dog confirmed.

"Then let's do this." Finally focusing his attention on Alec for the moment, he grinned tightly. " _Do_ put your hands down. You've got a call to make."

 _There's a bomb. Maybe several._.

Alec moved slowly, careful not to drop the concealed earpiece, and held his other hand out.

Nicola dialed, turning the speaker on, and gave it to him. "Remember, please, that should you attempt to screw us, you're merely the first life forfeited."

\---

"Hardison?" Nate leaned in, trying to listen, so Eliot put the phone up to his other ear.

"Hey, man," came the reply, and Nate nodded and shrugged, apparently the comms were picking up the sound, barely. Hardison was still talking. "Thanks for coming, but you gotta watch out when you-" there was a scuffle on the other end of the line, movement and impacts and Hardison's voice punching through it all. "It's a trap!"

 _No shit_ some part of his brain supplied, even as he called Hardison's name into the phone, getting no response. He strained to hear, pressing the phone closer against his ear, but it sounded like the phone had been dropped.

Silence on the line, no voices, but no gunfire, either. Yet. He scowled furiously about the loud reception hall, all the idiots in their nice clothes drinking wine, having a simply wonderful time while Hardison...

"…fucking _shoot_ you if you don't …" Eliot couldn't hear over his own breathing, so he stopped, looking away from Nate's horrified expression, and scanned over the room.

He hated all of them, hated their noise and their smug smiles, and couldn't take this anymore, barking "Hey!" into the phone, _screw the witnesses_ , but Nate was the only one to notice.

Intermittent bursts of "Okay, man…hold up…a'ight…I'm cool…" were all Hardison had by way of response. He obviously wasn't addressing him, but he was still talking, still alive, so Eliot didn't punch the waiter that strolled by a hair too close out of sheer frustration.

He drew a breath and rolled his eyes, but there wasn't enough time to wait, so he tried again. "Okay, okay, would _someone_ tell me what the hell is going on?"

There was a cough on the other end, then Hardison was back on, his voice careful, subdued. Eliot tried to guess the caliber of the gun was aimed at his head. "They've got explosives."

Nate was watching him impatiently, poised as if to strike out, steal the phone, and Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. They were even more blown than he'd thought they'd be.

 _Seriously? You really didn't see it coming?_

He wanted to pull away, turn so Nate couldn't hear him as he asked. "What do I gotta do?"

But it wasn't Hardison's voice that answered him. "I want you to listen, I want you to obey, and then I want you to atone."

\---

The bloody tang in his mouth was nearly enough to make him sick, but the truth was, Alec hadn't felt so settled in days.

 _They know. You warned them in time, it's all good._.

What they were going to _do_ with the information, though, he hadn't the first clue.

He crouched in the corner, wiping the blood from his nose, trying to tell if it was broken. It hurt like a bitch, but apparently now that he'd been subdued, Dog didn't seem to be overly concerned with watching him too closely. Rubbing a hand at his head, he managed to slip the earpiece in. He sat back, listening, and waited for the information to come.

\---

Nate held open the door into the lobby, and once they gained distance on the bulk of the party guests, Eliot turned the speakerphone on, grimacing. "You forgot to tell me to come alone."

"I don't have to. Judging by what I'm seeing here, you'll be alone soon enough. You'll be interested to know that your pretty blonde friend has fled the premises."

Exchanging wary glances with Nate, Eliot sneered towards the camera, sure that Nicola would see it. "We're here. Where do we go now?"

"Turn left past the second bank of elevators and take the stairs. The basement door's open."

They started down the hallway, deliberately casual as three women came giggling out of the restroom on their right.

"Who are you?" Eliot tried, once they'd passed.

"The man holding a gun to your friend's head."

Next to Eliot, Nate shrugged, muttering a grim "at least we know it's not the doctor, then."

"What is all this about? Why are you doing this?"

"Trevor Hastings."

Eliot sought out Nate's equally confused face, but found him already opening up the program he'd pulled from his pocket. "The hospital?" _What the hell does that have to do with anything?_

"I don't understand. That name means nothing to me."

"Exactly. You never even stopped to look. Ran past his body, bleeding in the dirt, and carried on your way."

"It was war." They emerged from the stairwell into darkness, which was quickly remedied by virtue of the switch at Nate's elbow, revealing a long, doorless corridor that branched off some eighty feet down.

"There was war, yes. But it had ended, when your government decided to make deals with devils. Unofficially, of course, otherwise they would have sent soldiers. Not mercenaries, paid under the table. Take that hallway, down to the end, and turn right."

Eliot struck out an arm, stopping Nate before ducking his head around the corner, and poked his head around the corner to survey, as Nicola continued.

"We were rebuilding. My son, he was a part of that. Cleaning up after years of death and misery, trying to create something new. Not just a way to survive, but an actual _future_. When there was no money, he went to the bombed-out remains of what had once been a hospital and pulled apart the rubble for materials with his bare hands. You know what he was doing when you shot him in the back?

Eliot scowled, rolling his eyes despite himself. "Shooting at me?"

Concrete brick walls painted tan, and brown commercial carpeting did little against the cold blue green of the fluorescent tubes lining the corridor; it still seemed that there was more shadow than light. Down at the dark end, as promised, was the door he wanted.

"He was running wires through the cracks in the walls. So we could have power. Light. Hot water. And it wasn't finished yet, when he fell from the scaffolding due to yet another stray bullet. From your gun."

"What?" Eliot couldn't have heard right. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry. The blood froze in his veins, though, warningly, and for the hundredth time, he tried to remember.

 _The press of bodies surging through the hot dusty square when the shots ring out. The yells of annoyed mothers calling after children quickly turning to scared cries as waves of people push together and apart, only scattering at the edges, nowhere near here._

Looking back over his shoulder to where the man he'd rescued not twenty minutes before lay dying and trampled. He would have been safer in the prison, but it's too late to worry about it now, the six guards behind him are closing in from the west end of the market, back where the first of them went down.

Spinning forward and shaking his distraction in time to see two more guns up ahead, dodging behind a market stall, sliding in bird shit and nearly going down. Over the half wall and out the back, but they've changed direction, too. They're taking aim but Eliot's faster this time.

Only he's not. He's squeezing the trigger, but there's a kid, must've been hiding right next to where Eliot's standing, and Eliot wouldn't ever have known if the kid hadn't elbowed past him as he wrestles his way back towards the alley. The shot goes wide. The kid runs faster when he hears the return fire, but it's not Eliot's problem. He missed, he has to keep moving.

In the next three minutes, another guard goes down dead, and he makes it to the edge of town, dodges behind the schoolhouse, and he's made it to the truck. He's gone.

It's the same thing he's remembered a hundred times. But he'd never thought about the shot that went off target.

Nate was waiting for answers, but Eliot had none. The vertigo was bad enough with his mouth shut.

 _Seven years later, and still adding to the body count._

\---

It took everything Alec had not to react, not to call out, not to ask questions, not to respond to the small choked noise Eliot had made that broke his heart, because.

 _It wasn't the guards._

He'd blown it. Big time. His research hadn't gone anywhere near where it had needed to go. He'd managed to have the exact geographic location, but he'd been miles away.

It made a disgusting amount of sense, though.

 _They'd retrieved Kevin's belongings from the rude woman working the evidence lockup at the police station. Mama was upstairs in Nana's room, crying up another storm, but Alec was too numb to go deal with either of them. He wasn't her son anymore, not these days._

He sat in the kitchen, sliding the unwanted can of soda around on the table and listened to Mama's boyfriend spell it out for him. How there was no sympathy for the man who dies with a gun in his hand. How cops, soldiers, thugs all, at some point, made the choice to pick up a gun and throw down.

How if Kevin had died because of a bullet that wasn't intended for him, that bitch at the police station wouldn't have blown Mama off like she had. Whatever the combination of heroic, tragic, or criminal, the concern of strangers always ran harder for the innocent.

Alec nodded, wishing the smell of alcohol on Martin's breath wasn't so strong, wondering how soon he could retreat to his room, wishing that he'd take Mama and just leave, already.

Vengeance for those who died in the line of duty was the stuff of movies, probably. It wasn't as real, not like vengeance for family. His old neighborhood was evidence of that, and you could call it what you like, but it was real.

He should have seen this coming.

\---

"I'm sorry he died," Eliot tried, and he was pretty sure he meant it.

"You don't understand," Nicola answered, because Eliot couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of calling him Edward yet. "He didn't."

Light shone through underneath the door, and the only reason he could see even this much was the last light in the hall was burned out entirely.

 _Or turned off_ He went still as he examined what he could. There was something, up in right corner that could have been part of the electrical system, but was probably a camera.

 _Doesn't matter. They know you're coming_.

All he had to do was get there.

On the left side of the long hallway, down on the far end, was a set of utility doors that probably led out to loading docks or a workshop. Without Hardison on the line, there was no way to know which, and no way to know if they would provide a good exit. For all he knew it either went right out to the street, or a dead end full of broken and shelved HVAC equipment.

"Do you know what locked-in syndrome is? Do you know what it does to a family? His wife gave birth to their daughter three months after you destroyed his life, and what should have been the happiest day of their lives was an awkward introduction of mute strangers. My daughter in law would have starved, trying to feed her child and her husband with no income to speak of. But we look after our own. I made deals with devils, and learned to make better deals."

Eliot sighed. "I'm sorry, I really am. I was under orders and things got hot. I didn't even _know_ until now."

If there wasn't Hardison to worry about, if there wasn't a building full of people who had nothing to do with this, he would've pointed out that Nicola could have been a hell of a less cryptic. It was strange to have a name to attach to the pictures he'd memorized, but he couldn't think about it right now.

A bulletin board hung empty at the halfway point, but beyond that, it was a straight shot, and the doors at the end would probably open into the hallway. Even if they didn't, as long as he kept to the right, he'd see the movement before they could see him.

It would give him enough time to duck into one of the three doorways, set back from the main corridor and spaced evenly, every fifteen feet. There was no way to tell if they were open or locked. Three blind spots which, once secured, could be useful for cover.

The right side of the hall was more interesting. A secondary hallway branched off about twenty feet ahead, and past that, three sets of doors, set back from the main corridor. Three zones to clear and secure, but they'd be useful for cover on the way out, should they need it. But they wouldn't be coming for him on the approach, anyway.

Nicola sighed heavily into the phone, it came through the speakerphone as a hiss of noise. "Of course you didn't. You destroy lives as if they were nothing, because to you, they are. You have no care, no heart. To you, your acts are just _orders_ , and lives are the price of doing business."

"That's not true," Nate argued, Nicola laughed, and Eliot went still, ducking back from the hallway, out of sight of the cameras.

Nicola wasn't wrong, but Eliot wasn't going to let him know it.

"If you're right, then you'll allow him his penance." Nicola laughed. "You don't get it, do you? Tonight, everything? Funds for the final repairs? The hospital's to be named after my only son, once the renovations are complete, and the supplies brought in. And it's his home, and will be, until his time comes. And for all that, you've never met him. You stepped over his body and continued on your way, destroying four lives without a glance. You _never. Even. Noticed._ "

"So what, you're going to kill him in return?" Nate growled, loud enough to be heard, apparently having forgotten everything Eliot had told him about hostage negotiations. "It's not going to make it right, and it's not going to fix anything."

Frustrated, Nicola's responding growl gave him the cover he needed, though, so maybe he'd been paying attention. "What d'you need?" Nate's tone was surprisingly calm, and though Eliot would never admit it, it was comforting.

He shook his head and gestured up the stairs, seeing for the first time what Nate had already noticed. They were standing in a blind spot, no cameras aimed in their direction. They were in the clear until they rounded the corner. "Keep watch. You see anyone coming through those doors, let me know." It wasn't everything he wanted, but it would have to do.

Nate bowed his head, producing two small objects from his pocket. Tracking devices, like the one they'd used to track Parker in Serbia. _One for them to find, one to keep_ , Eliot realized, slipping one into his jeans, and the other into his mouth. The latter, he tongued into place between his molars and the inside of his cheek.

It was the first sign that Nate had tried to prepare, for any of this, that he'd seen.

Another moment, and he twisted, leading with his shoulder, and began his trek down the hallway, Nate following close behind.

"Hello Eliot, it's good to see you, again." Nicola's voice confirmed the camera's presence. He slowed his steps. "Here's how we're going to play it. Straight trade. When you reach the halfway point, I will release Alec Hardison. If either of you run for it, I will detonate the charges early."

That was the stupidest thing Eliot had ever heard. "Killing yourself in the process?"

"Of course not. I never stated that this building has been mined, did I? Please remember that I find such measures distasteful, and would prefer not to use them. Whether or not I get over my little aversion is entirely up to you."

"How do we know you won't just blow it up once you have him?"

"I have my honor, I'm sending your man out with a map to where both charges have been placed. With your numbers so horribly reduced, I doubt very much that you would be able to initiate a rescue mission _and_ reach them both in time. I'm counting on you, Mister Ford, to make the right call. So, if you would please take your leave back towards the stairs, and Mister Spencer, if you would be so kind as to leave your gun on the floor and slide it a safe distance down the left hallway, we can begin."

Surprise covered Nate's offence half a second too late, but he winked at him, then. The barest hint of a headshake before his voice went cold. _Follow my lead_.

"You brought a _gun_?"

Eliot searched Nate's face, because if there was a lead he was trying to follow, it meant that maybe there was a plan. He drew the gun out from the sling and showed it to him.

"I can't _believe_ this, you. You're endangering the entire _team_ here, Eliot. You _lied_ to us. Remember what you promised?"

 _Never promised anything._ Eliot blinked, and then he finally got it. "This is different," he replied.

"No, this is the entire problem. What else have you been lying about, huh? The job in Kansas? Miami? Whatever, there's no time. We're done. Just do what he says. Try not to get a whole lot of people killed."

"Fine." Eliot reached down to place the gun on the floor, kicking it slowly back down the hallway.

Nate's eyes were telling him, though, that they weren't finished. _Have to make it look good_. He held off, for a second, pretending to realize something. "Hang on, You're in on it, aren't you?"

"What?" Nate's voice was almost a little too indignant, but it probably barely registered on the phone.

"You're working with him."

"No, Eliot, I'm just making sure nobody else gets killed," Nate argued, but his smirk told him he was on the right track.

"No, see, it's all making sense, now. The entire past few months. Kansas. Pittsburgh, you knew, you _had_ to know." Telegraphing his movements, he brought his good arm up to shove Nate against the wall by the throat.

"You're the only liar, here," Nate said. "Already destroyed the team, so, what, you want more blood on your hands?"

"No!" Eliot floundered, because this was all hitting a little too close to home, too much to know how to react, but thankfully, Nicola had finally run out of patience.

"I'm still waiting, you know." By the smug tone in his voice, however, it was clear that he was enjoying the show. Nate used Eliot's distraction to wrestle him back a bit, maneuver his arm between them.

Eliot felt something cold and heavy being pressed against his chest, moving carefully into place, exactly where he'd been hiding the surrendered gun. Another second more, once it was settle securely, he shoved against Nate one last time and stepped away, too surprised for words.

Nate had been packing, too.

Brushing the arms of his suit coat, and sniffing snidely, Nate leaned towards him, speaking clearly enough to be heard on the phone.

"You brought this down on us, you're seeing this through. After tonight, you're done with us. Hardison doesn't get out of this alive, I'll destroy you myself."

He gave Eliot a long, intense look, and did the right thing, the one thing that Eliot couldn't deal with, not then.

He apologized, wished him luck with too many expressions crossing his face, turned, and walked away.

\----

Alec wished he'd never picked up the earpiece.

He'd been wondering where Sophie and Parker were, because if this were any other job, Parker's security updates and the Sophie's ends of conversations could usually be heard.

Sometimes, they were just listening as carefully as he was, now. Waiting for their cues. But this was different.

Eliot thought Nate was involved, Nate thought Eliot deserved it, and by this point, Sophie, at least, should have been there to talk some sense back into both of them.

But Sophie was gone. Parker, too. _at least she dropped the comms on the way out_

He'd missed the splinter, and was still hearing the break, but now it was Halitosis' cough and Dog's grumbled "get your ass up" that he had to deal with.

He pushed himself up, using the wall for leverage as the room began to swim, just a little bit, and was surprised to take a step towards the door without a bullet meeting him halfway.

"Have a good day," Nicola grinned, which seemed a fucked thing to say when thrusting a map of bombs into someone's hand, but it wasn't like Alec had much by way of comparison. The door opened, and he was released into the hallway. He heard the guards moving behind them, guns still at the ready, and he was pretty sure one of them was focused on the back of his head.

He didn't turn to check. Wouldn't have, anyway, and not just because he didn't want to tempt fate. It was hard to see anything besides the anger in Eliot's eyes, staring down the guns as he approached.

"El," Alec started, not expecting him to register the sound, and _definitely_ not ready for the glance he cut his way. Like he'd given up. Like this was goodbye.

"Keep going. Please don't blow this," he pleaded, and already, he was passing by.

But Alec knew better than to turn and watch him go.

\---

Nate had apologized and wished him luck. There hadn't been a plan, after all. He'd just been evening the odds.

Whatever came next was up to him, and him alone. No backup. No plan.

 _No fucking chance._

Nate hadn't condoned it, but he hadn't condemned him. Eliot would have to handle that on his own.

He didn't hesitate in his steps, and he wasn't delaying. He was moving carefully, tactfully towards the man with the detonator, there was a difference.

Hardison was coming towards him, map in hand, bloodied and dirty and terrified, and trying to break out into a smile.

Alive and fucking _gorgeous_.

"El," he whispered in a dry voice as they drew near, one word standing for a thousand others, sounding huge, like it was coming from inside his head.

Or possibly his earpiece. One gigantically small word that could send everything going to hell.

He couldn't let it matter, not right now. Not anymore. Every step Hardison took, the closer he was to safety.

So when there was sudden drag to his step, as he threatened to slow, all Eliot could see was the explosion that would surely come next.

"Keep going. Please don't blow this."

Hardison's eyes flashed, sad and disappointed and afraid, but he listened, for once. Kept walking. If Alec was leaving him, or letting Eliot leave, it really didn't matter anymore, because there were only a few yards left to go before he was heading through the door, and already, he could see all three occupants of the room.

Two more steps, and he was choosing his first target.

Hardison had caught up with Nate, somewhere behind him, he could hear their voices on the phone, quick and stumbling over each other, but he can't tell if they're clearing the area, not without taking his eyes off the guns as he steps into the room, and coming to a horrible understanding.

If he screwed up, somewhere, a building would fall, trap someone inside with no access to water, food, air, or quick death.

He couldn't risk it, not yet, not with the phone in Nicola's hand, not with Hardison's voice in his ear, ordering Nate to catch him up.

He wanted to take the earpiece out, but it was just impulse, not instinct. He didn't want the others to hear this. It was fucked enough, on his end, already.

All he could hear, all he could understand, were the guns in his face and Hardison's voice in his head, fucking amazing and maybe the last thing he'd ever hear, and he was starting to think it was enough.

But then Nicola spoke, and ruined everything.

\---

"You see my face now, and you see the resemblance. You also, by now, have ascertained that I care not whether you survive the evening." Nicola checked his watch. "But it appears that you shall, at least for a short time. I should return to the festivities, wonderful as this has been. I assume you're ready to transport him?"

"Yes." A third guard stepped in behind and around him, one hand holding a gun to Eliot's head, the other holding a small leather case. "You want us to take his earpiece?"

"No. His friends need to hear everything." Pulling on the suit coat he had folded over his arms, he continued, addressing the guard with the stained white shoes.

"I will meet you out there in a few hours. Don't cancel the countdown until he's in the van, and remember. If he's dead or gone before I arrive, remember, our deal's off."

The guards grunted their understanding. The larger of the two were smart enough to keep a careful distance, covering the third while he opened the case, withdrawing a hypodermic needle. Eliot didn't need to wonder what it contained.

He wished, for a moment, that the guard would take it upon himself to find some mouthwash, sometime this century, but the distraction was fleeting.

Clapping his hands together, Nicola snorted. "Well. While you engage in transporting our guest, I must go and make the last rounds, bestow more thanks upon our benefactors." He moved towards the door, and Eliot knew, like he always knew these things, that this was his chance was near.

Under the guise of crossing his arm, his finger brushed along the barrel of the gun. If he could just turn, slightly, away, he'd have it out in time to end this. End all of it. The life he didn't want to return to, and the one that he didn't want to leave. He dropped his gaze to the floor, surreptitiously glancing down at the gun, and thought about asking someone's forgiveness, but there was motion.

"I don't think you'll need to keep the appointment."

Linda King followed her gun into the room, looking much more confident than she had up on stage as she maintained her aim on the back of Nicola's head, but it was she that held the entirety of Eliot's attention. Nor was it the horrified expression freezing on Nicola's face.

It was Sophie, slipping into the room after her, sliding to the side, her gun trained on the man with the needle, who held that honor.

"Well this is just great," The guard with the leathery skin and bad hair grumbled, and part of Eliot, at least, had to agree with him.

"You want a payout, or you want to live?" Sophie was all icy calm and razorblades, talking like she hadn't just made everything a hundred times more complicated. "It's up to you. Set your guns down and slide them towards the door."

"And get your asses down on the floor," the blonde added, driving the muzzle into the back of Nicola's skull, following him down as he obeyed.

The third guard, though, the one with the ugly shoes, looked like he was thinking about fighting. It was as good a time as any for Eliot to draw his own gun. It felt belated and clumsy in his hand, but by the time it was out, it wasn't needed any more.

He wouldn't have to kill anyone.

He choked back a sob of relief, but that was all he allowed himself, because "Hello Eliot," Sophie was saying, sliding the third guard's gun into her purse. "I'm glad to see you're okay." Standing up, she turned her aim towards the disarmed guards again, allowing Linda to go rummage through her own purse for a handful of plastic zip strips.

"Uh, yeah." _Computer drives, weapons, restraints? Seriously. Gotta start carrying a purse._ "You too," he said, like he hadn't expected to be dead by now. "You wanna fill me in?"

"That will take some time, and I'd just assume have everyone in one place while we go over it." She gestured down to Linda. "In the meantime, I'd like you to meet Tara Cole."

"Hi," the woman said, grinning happily as she glanced up from the task at hand, like this was something she did every day, like she belonged there.

It wasn't until she had Nicola rolled to the side that Eliot realized that he'd been concealing a gun as well, but by then, it was too late to stop the blood from spattering the walls.  



	18. Chapter 18

  
Ears ringing from the loud crack of the gunshot, Eliot stared down at the gun in his hand, his finger still wrapped around the trigger.

Same as it had been a moment ago, when Nicola had blown his own brains out.

It would've been a relief, if it hadn't meant he'd been too slow, that there were a thousand other things that could have gone wrong.

Parker's voice broke over the comms, anxious and angry. " _What the hell's going on_?"

"We gotta move." The blood spattered on his shoe was making it hard to prioritize. " _Now_. Undo his legs, and get everyone out of here."

"Where are we going?" Tara rose, staring horrified at the bloody mess before her.

"Their van's parked through the double doors, straight shot, and the first door on the right opens out to the loading dock," Parker instructed. "What happened?"

"Nicola shot himself," Eliot grunted.

" _Shit_ ," Nate interjected. "Sophie?"

"I'll explain later to all of you, but right now, we've got to go." She backed up slightly covering as Tara pulled a handful of zip strips out of her purse. Eliot leveled his gun on the guards, covering the two that Sophie couldn't, and Tara quickly bound the wrists of all three guards.

"Damn it," Nate's voice muttered on the line. "Is anybody we care about hurt?"

"We're fine," Eliot pulled the larger guard to his feet warily, but the man was too shocked to take advantage of Eliot's momentary precarious balance. "We're heading out, but the countdown looks like it's got twenty minutes before it goes."

"It should cut out as soon as the receiver on this set of charges is severed." Parker explained, unworried. "Just a few more seconds."

Stunned, Eliot raised his eyebrows. "What? How'd you find them?"

" _Later_ ," Nate advised. "Just _go_ while you're still clear. Parker, you said the second? What about the first?"

Eliot and Sophie trailed their prisoners as Tara led the way, navigating slowly towards the loading dock.

"Apollo got it already."

"He did?" Sophie seemed honestly surprised, but caught herself before she dropped her guard. "Apollo?"

Eliot listened, but there was no answer that he could hear, he was about to ask, when Parker growled, " _Apollo_! Hey! That's you!"

"Oh, ah. Sorry. Yeah, we're good. I'm heading back through Central Park right now."

"Where's Hardison?" Eliot finally asked, surveying the loading dock and finding that for the moment, at least, they were still alone.

"He's, ah. Indisposed," Nate's tension was palpable. "In the men's room, puking his guts out. He's fine," Nate added, before Eliot had time to worry. About that, anyway.

Sophie pulled the van door open, searching for possible weapons, and the three guards clambered awkwardly in, slowly. Tara moved forward with the zip strips and a roll of duct tape, intent on binding their legs as well, but Eliot waved her back, glaring inside at each guard in turn.

"Any of you stupid enough to come running back to a dead body in a room covered with your fingerprints?" They shook their heads. "Okay. Uh, you," he gestured at Tara. "Cut 'em loose."

"No way, I-"

"Just _do it_. We don't have time for this."

Nate's voice cut in again, impatient and too late, the van was already moving, turning up into the garage. "Ah, Eliot? What are you doing?"

"Evidence. We gotta do something about the body, Nate. Guys don't usually stick a gun in their mouth when they're about to receive a few million dollars, and we don't have time to deal with lackeys."

"Ah, right," Nate stumbled, probably finally catching onto the enormity of the situation, but changing gears already. "Parker, Apollo? Meet us in the basement. We need all the cleaning supplies you can find on the way." Like it was business as usual, something he'd done a thousand times before, and Eliot would have to ask about that, sometime. "Sophie, we have to talk."

"Can it wait until I've washed the blood off?"

"Ah, yeah. Sure. Eliot? What do you need?"

Eliot hurried back into the room where they'd been holding Hardison. Nicola lay in an increasingly large pool of blood, bits of hair and bone sprinkled throughout. There was something horrible sliding slowly down the wall.

They needed bleach, towels, and lots of both. Plastic bags. A shower curtain would be nice. For all he knew, Hardison's fingerprints were all over the place. Relaying as much to the others, he reached down to take the laptop from where it had been resting in the corner, and almost dropped it the moment he looked at the screen. " _Shit_!"

"Eliot, what is it?"

He exhaled heavily through his nose. _Get a grip, man._ He smirked at himself. This entire business was making him damned jumpy. He didn't mind it, he'd get sloppy. "Nothing. Spooked, that's all. Saw the timer running and thought-"

"Wait, what?" Parker sounded surprised, and that was never good. Defensively, she continued. "We broke the last connection. There shouldn't be anything feeding back in!"

"So. Great." Nate snorted in annoyance, already rolling with it. "So there's another bomb, somewhere. Yeah, great. Probably not here in the building, but it could be anywhere."

Everyone hung breathlessly on the line as they took it in, but after a brief scuffling sound, Hardison's was the one to speak.

"I'm on my way," he stated hoarsely. "How much time we got?"

"Sixteen minutes. Think you can do it?"

"No sweat. Hang on."

\---

 _No sweat my ass_ , Alec thought, rinsing his mouth out one last time and grabbing the paper towel Nate was offering.

He was sweating, knew damned well how awful he smelled, and even though he'd since figured out they were fine, he'd been hearing nothing but that single, awful gunshot for the past ten minutes. He was starting to miss the ticking already.

His hands were scraped, sore, and still shaking. _So yeah. Deactivating a bomb. No sweat at fucking all._  
But that wasn't what Nate needed to hear, so he instead he asked, "We miss something on the map?"

"Nicola played us."

"Fuck." His mind spun out, trying to remember what he'd missed. "So Parker-"

"She can't get to it in time if we don't know where to send her." Nate explained. "So I gotta ask. It's coming from the laptop Nicola had. Can you deactivate it?"

"Where's the countdown at?"

"Just under fifteen minutes," Eliot was close in his ear, and even under the circumstances, tense and rattled as he obviously was, it was a damned fine sound.

"Be cool," he decided. "I'm on my way."

Nate put his hand to his ear. "Sophie, Tara? We're evacuating if he can't get it in six."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Alec grumbled. _You sure you wanna wait?_ He pushed through the bathroom door and having no trouble staggering the unwashed bum the guests needed to think he was. Nate followed close, hurrying him towards the stairs.

"You know where you're going?" he paused on the landing, clearly not intending to follow Alec down.

"I got this. Go. Do your thing." He flew down the stairs fast enough that it felt like falling. "Parker, talk to me, girl. What are we dealing with?"

"Apollo got the first one handled, I just finished the second. Wireless transmitters, no independent display. Other than that, it's the same fittings we saw at the warehouse."

"Okay, cool."

" _Cool_?" Eliot growled. "You mean when the warehouse blew up?"

"Because they were able to get to the transmitter, which is what you've got there. We didn't have time to do a full teardown."

"You can get it _this_ time, though, right?"

Alec rolled his eyes, turning down the hallway and speeding up. "I don't know, man. Figured I'd stop, grab a shower, maybe find something to eat. Read some emails-" he broke off, though, coming around the last corner.

Eliot was standing frozen, just inside what had, up until recently, been the room where Alec had been kept prisoner. He was holding the laptop gingerly, like _it_ was waiting to blow the moment he stopped watching. Alec didn't need him to raise his head to know the face he wore. He'd seen it before, in a sunny parking lot, hiding behind the hood of a truck. In Sophie's apartment, too close not to be noticed. On a video feed in the dark, well past caring that he was being watched.

Maybe he could hear the ticking, too. But now really wasn't the time to ask. "Here, man, give." Finally reaching the doorway, he stretched over to pry the laptop from Eliot's hands.

It was that exact moment that he saw Nicola's body lying on the floor. He almost lost his grip on the computer.

Eliot caught his flinch and his knuckles went white and rigid on the plastic. "Focus, man, or we're all ending up worse."

Crouching on the floor, he set the laptop down carefully, his back to the gruesome scene.

His shredded fingers were eager to feel the slide of keys underneath, brushing over them as he scanned the screen, planning his attack as he read. They stopped when his ring finger slid over something sticky and gritty.

 _Don't even look_ , he warned himself, but still managed to disobey. Trying not to breathe, he flicked what was probably a skull fragment towards the floor, and got to work.

All he needed to do was get around the password, and without a reader, there was no way of knowing even how many characters it would take, but there. _There_ it was. Another track, and a jagged edge in the code, something to work at, pry up piece by piece…

"Eight minutes," Eliot murmured, looking out into the hall as Alec typed furiously. "Apollo? Parker? Want you guys across the street. Wait for my signal."

"Or, you could..." Alec's command went through, and after a brief examination of the code, scanning for traps, he tapped the final three keys and began to breathe again. The countdown stopped, hanging, and the connection was broken. His laugh probably wasn't as manic as it sounded in his head. "Come on in and pay your respects, because the master has it _all_ under control."

"You're sure?" Nate asked.

"You seriously want to rain on the parade right now? Hell _yeah_ I'm sure! It's _dead_." Shutting down the program, he was relieved to see that they still had control of the hotel's security feeds. The ghosted cameras on this floor looped again, still showing empty rooms.

"Okay. I've got the truck, bringing it down around back. Sophie, get in with security, make sure they're not going on rounds any time soon. Tara? Or whoever you are?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to skim the lost and found, and at _some_ point I'd like to meet you. Everyone else, downstairs."

Head aching, Alec ripped the out ill-fitting earpiece and rubbed at his side of his head, wanting to lie down, find a wall to lean against somewhere. He didn't realize he'd been in the act of doing so until he felt Eliot grab his arm, hauling him back upright, and pinching at the skin at his inner elbow, _hard_.

"Ow! What the-"

"That was for standing me up the other night." Eliot smirked as he pulled out his own earpiece, dropping it in his pocket before reaching an arm down to help Alec stand. "But mostly, it was to stop you passin' out, just now. What I need you to do right now, is walk forward and _don't turn around_."

"Sorry, but the ship's already sailed on the dead-"

"Yeah, well, if you wanna stay around and help me scrub this guy's brain's off the wall, feel free."

 _The man has a point._ "I'll go keep watch." It was hard to talk around the gorge in his throat. He slipped out to stand in the hall for a moment, hugging Parker hello around an armload of shower curtains, and would have shook Apollo's hand, were it not for the buckets he held. For a moment, it felt like they were coming over for a dinner party.

But they weren't. Not at all.

Hoping to block out the sounds coming from behind him, he concentrated on Sophie's voice as she described, to hotel security, no doubt, the strange noises she'd heard up on the seventh floor. He had to admit that it wasn't helping much, but beyond the snapping of plastic gloves, and the grinding drag of plastic curtains, there was little to hear, anyway. He wasn't the only one that didn't feel like talking.

The man was dead. Killed himself. _Apparently_ , he tried not to append, but the idea was there anyway. Threw him for a slow-grinding loop until he finally forced it through his skull that he'd already heard the fallout and knew the score. He hadn't heard the slightest accusation from anyone. Even Dog, Cheap Sneakers and Halitosis had gone quietly.

Used to be, Alec was better about considering his sources.

"Coming through," Apollo said, after Nate had checked with Sophie and given the order to move out. Alec stepped aside to let him and Eliot pass, carrying the wrapped body between them. The double doors swung back heavily. He took a steadying breath, and turned back into the room.

It wasn't much better, not with the wads of towels, some paper, some stolen from the laundry, soaking in the blood. When Parker glanced up from the patch of wall she was scrubbing, her eyes were distant, locked down. Unhappy.

At least he wasn't the only one. "You need some help?"

She shrugged, tilting her head towards the box of rubber gloves, and coughed a little before asking, "Other than this whole…area, was there anywhere else in the room that you touched?"

"Back wall," at least he was remembering clearly. "This side, and the vent."

"Um. Okay. Use that spray bottle over there, and pretend you're just washing windows." It sounded insane, but not Parker-insane. It was the same sort of thing anyone might have said in the same fucked situation.

He got to work, was just getting around to wiping at the vent, when he heard the approaching argument.

"…at least, not with your shoulder like that," Nate was complaining.

"He's right, man. I can find a dumpster and be done with it, it's faster."

"I'm fine. Let's just finish this, okay? I can handle it."

"Fine," Nate paused in the doorway, hanging there like a puppet with the strings cut off. Apollo was the first inside, gingerly began shoving blood-soaked towels into the plastic bag Parker was holding open.

Out in the hall, Eliot's voice was low. Alec pretended not to notice. "I'll be out and back in ten minutes. Soon as this place is cleaned up, we're gone, but the. Body. Gotta deal with that first."

"And just how are you going to do that?"

Eliot grimaced at the floor, cocked his head and raised it challengingly at Nate. "You really want to know?"

"Ah." Nate rubbed at his neck, trying to decide, and everyone else looked elsewhere. "No. Just. Stay in touch."

\---

Waiting underneath the bridge, listening to the traffic overhead, Eliot didn't have long to wait before the barge passed underneath.

By the time he'd made it the ten feet to the tunnel's opening, he'd been able to see why Tyler had shown this place to him, years ago. Sophie's Land Rover was invisible from the road above, and it had been easy enough, if unpleasant, to haul the body the thirty feet out to the ledge.

Watching the barge's approach, he crouched behind a support strut and uncoiled the heavy cord he'd found in the trunk _Probably Parker's_.

Careful to get the knot right, and checking it twice, he dug his heels in against the concrete and wrapped the cord's ends around both hands, bad arm first. As the wide-open bed of the barge began to pass below, he carefully, slowly, lowered the heavy weight down towards the water. The movement set the gruesome package swinging just enough that with a little work, he was able to cast it out far enough to clear the edge of the barge.

His shoulder wrenched, painfully, just before he released one end of the cord, and he could feel the knot give as sprawled back against the concrete, no longer tethered to the weight. A heavy thud below told him he'd reached his target.

Just like Tyler had sworn he could, years ago. Eliot wondered if this place would have occurred to him, if he hadn't been packing Tyler's Desert Eagle, hadn't come so close to using it.

Setting the coiled cord on the seat next to him, he put the truck into gear, then stopped. Taking the keys with him, he again headed down towards the ledge, but this time, he carried the gun instead of the cord.

The barge had passed, now, and the wind was picking up. Removing the clip, he wiped the gun down, and tossed it into the water. One by one by one, clean bullets followed it down.

He wanted to stay there, for a minute. Think about things a bit more, but he'd already pressed his luck here, tonight. He had to get gone.

\---

In the back seat, dressed in clothes stolen from the lost and found, Alec leaned heavily against the window. Though Sophie was riding over with Tara, and there was enough room for everyone, including Apollo, it was all feeling too damned close. Up front, Eliot's face was a hard mask as he drove, still in his battered suit. There was no doubt he was feeling it, too.

Next to him, Parker's discomfort was obvious. Periodically, whenever she remembered that Alec was there, she'd tug at his sleeve, catch his eye and try to smile, not knowing what to say, but canny enough to know she was supposed to try. Thankfully, whenever the discomfort grew to be entirely uncomfortable, she'd avert her eyes, remember that Apollo was there, too.

Nate, however, was the one most obviously agitated. Alec caught him checking the rearview every few seconds, saw the horrified expression on his face every time, and tried not to follow suit.

\---

When they caught up with Sophie and her friend at the hotel, it wasn't even midnight, and there was something insanely wrong with that. Reaching their floor, Nate ordered everyone to go and clean up, get back to his room when they were ready.

Eliot wasn't sure when, exactly, that would be, but it wasn't worth mentioning. Over by the door, Tara was shaking her hair loose from the knot she'd been wearing, and saying something about going down to get a room. Hardison, on the other hand, standing there in a sweater and jeans that were too wide and too short, didn't seem to notice that they'd even arrived. Lost, like he was stumbling, unseeing, through his own head and none of it was making much sense.

"C'mon," Eliot said, because the rest of the group was already breaking up, everyone turning towards their own rooms. "Shower. Clothes." While it would have been great to get some sort of response, it was easier this way, to lead him back to his own room, grab the sweats from the bag, shove them in his hands, and point him towards the bathroom. If Alec didn't get the chance to think it through, maybe he'd stay.

As soon as he heard the shower turn on, he went back into the duffel, pulling out the painkillers and shooting one down. The bottle was reburied at the bottom of the bag. Other than that, though, there wasn't much he could do besides wait his turn for the shower, and try not to think.

When Hardison emerged, he was dressed in the sweats Eliot had brought. His hands were a mess and that dazed look was still there, and whatever that asshole Nicola had done to him, he'd died too quickly. By the time Eliot was showered and dressed in jeans, two sweatshirts and his cap, Hardison was gone.

Eliot wasn't ready for that, to be walking into an empty room, not by half. He was jerking the strap for the sling back into place and trying not to think about how he'd re-injured it, or how badly, but the straps wouldn't go where they needed to, and it shouldn't have been an issue in the first place, wouldn't have been, if he'd kept his head clear, and now Hardison was-

Hardison was coming back in through the door, an ice pack held in his rough, scraped hands, and his smile wasn't reaching his eyes yet, but he was trying. Handing it over, he said, "So which room is Nate staying in?" and when Eliot answered, this time, at least, he looked like he was hearing him.

"Across the hall. You doin' all right?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. You?"

"Fine," Eliot lied, and followed Alec out the door.

\---

It was with some dread that Eliot sat down next to Hardison on the small couch in Nate's hotel room, and waited for his inquisition to begin.

"So. Anyone here know where you want to start? Because I don't have a goddamned clue." Nate finally stopped his pacing now that Parker and Apollo had arrived. When he got no response, he snorted in irritation. "Sophie? Tara? Feel like filling the rest of us in? How did you find him so fast?"

Tara smirked. "Fast? I've been working on it for weeks, now." When nobody laughed with her, Sophie stepped in to explain.

"Well, it seemed the one thing we hadn't tried, yet, was the one thing that Hardison had wanted to do from the start. Mikel Dayan."

"What?" This, evidently, wasn't what Nate wanted to hear. "I don't. How did you-"

"When her name came up, I got to thinking. Hardison checked each of us out at the very beginning." A quick glance in his somewhat abashed face confirmed this. "I thought it reasonable that his evil alter ego would have kept tabs on his own crew."

"So you talked to, what's his name. Chaos?"

"No." Sophie nodded to Tara. " _She_ did."

"I don't understand, when did you put this all together?"

"A few weeks ago, when I said came up to visit a friend here in town? I wasn't lying. We needed another face, one that nobody knew, not Chaos, and not Nicola. Tara was just finishing a job, and it worked out."

"That's all well and good," Eliot caught the ice pack as it slid out of position, pressing it back underneath the sling. "But why the hell didn't you say anything?"

"At first, it was because I didn't want to step on any toes," she said to Nate. "And then, well, Hardison's kidnapping complicated things. I didn't know who to trust. And nothing personal," she turned to Apollo, "but you were working with the man who tried to kill me. No offense."

"None taken."

Hardison rubbed a hand over his face, looking like he was awake by sheer force of will alone. "How did you get Chaos to spill the beans?"

"I told him I was in a position to make a deal regarding his sentence if he helped us catch you. Told him your crew had split up, and that you were working with Mikel Dayan these days. Having a good run of it, too."

At Hardison's confusion, Eliot's laugh turned into a dry cough. "He actually bought that?" _You must be one hell of a saleswoman_.

" _Oh_ yeah. He told me where he kept his backups. He had phone records for Dayan that went back as far as I wanted, and it was easy enough to find Hastings once I had the right name."

Nate nodded. "So you never spoke to Dayan?"

"Are you nuts? She killed a friend of mine with a _mop_ ," Tara shook her head. "Anyway, I lured him out here, which, unfortunately, gave him the perfect invitation to come in and grab Hardison. I'm sorry about that, by the way," she amended, leaning diagonally towards the couch.

Hardison nodded, once Eliot nudged him with his foot, but Nate was impatient. "And?"

Rolling her eyes, Tara continued. "I found out that he'd applied to several organizations looking for grants. Talked my way into the Rigg foundation posing as the representative for a private philanthropist with an interest in Myanmar. I would broker the deal, the foundation would get the credit."

"You find out anything about Hastings?"

"It's bad," Tara began, after a long moment, checking with Sophie before continuing, trying to get a read on the room. "Once I had his name, I was able to do some more digging. He wasn't lying, what he said before, but there's more. After his son got hurt, he got involved in some shady dealings to get medical treatment, make ends meet. His daughter in law and his granddaughter got caught up in it." With an apologetic look in Eliot's direction, she finished. "Earlier this year, both of them were murdered."

Eliot stared at his hands. "Why didn't he say anything?"

"He was probably working up to it," Nate guessed, grimly. "Think that was what put him over the edge?"

Tara nodded, suddenly very interested in her bottle of water.

"All right, Nate said, thankfully not wanting to go there, for the moment at least. "Getting in with the foundation. How'd you manage that?"

"Old school. Got Sophie to make some calls when I needed a different voice or three on the line."

Nate steepled his fingers, giving his next words some thought. Evidently, he wasn't the only one reluctant to say what he was thinking. But he wasn't one to leave shit hanging, either, team be damned. "Well that's great, but the fact of the matter is. Sophie went behind-"

"Wait," Parker interrupted. "That wasn't part of the plan?"

"No." Nate replied, crossly, cutting a glance in Sophie's direction, but not quite reaching. Eliot knew when someone was planning their second attack, and in another few seconds, this was all going to come falling down, and while the sound of gunfire echoed in his brain, it was this he-said, she-didn't-say that would trigger it all. Eliot held his breath and waited.

"Who slipped me the earpiece?" Hardison suddenly asked. Managing to figure it all out with his eyes closed, literally, he missed the exchange and evasion of wary glances, but moved them onto a different track. Forced them to keep it together, just a little bit longer.

Eliot didn't know if the reprieve would last, but Parker was passing around her phone, displaying a text message. Gibberish. Some code Eliot couldn't crack. He nudged Hardison, who opened his eyes and squinted at the display, before hanging his head again. "That doesn't help. At all."

"It's the ventilation path that led down. There. Apollo sent me the plans, and after Sophie-" Parker pulled up short. "I went in, but the branches off the main were too small, so I tossed it down and hoped for the best."

"If you were climbing through the vents," Nate started, his earlier chagrin forgotten for the moment, "how did you find the bombs?"

"I had the ventilation system sussed before you all showed," Apollo explained. "Heard 'em talking about pulling the van around back, so I headed for the garage, waited, and followed them on my bike."

Nate scowled. "Bicycle?"

"Ducati."

Parker was again scrolling through her messages, also written in code, and Tara reached out for the phone. "He fed me the locations. I followed, easy as lyin'." Hardison exhaled through his nose, it might have been a laugh.

"You two have your own language?" Tara asked, curious.

"HVAC systems, in most modern buildings, are not adequately described within the confines of a single text message," Apollo was still being smug, but Parker hit him in the leg.

"While we're at it," Nate spoke carefully, tilting only slightly in Sophie's direction. "Hardison wound up with Sophie's comm. unit. I presume you had an extra?"

Sophie raised her eyebrows, wary. "I had two," she admitted. "One, I passed to Tara when I went to pick up the clothing. The other I and one to replace the one I dropped."

Reminded, Tara handed Parker's phone back, and pulled an earpiece out of her pocket, placing it on the table. "These are great, by the way. Really clear."

Hardison nodded, but didn't bask in the praise, which probably shouldn't have been troubling. Obviously exhausted, he wasn't doing much of anything. But that wasn't all of it, not if how sharply he'd evaded Eliot's every look was any indication. There was no way to tell if it was because he didn't want to be seen _by_ Eliot, or didn't want to _see_ him.

Eliot tried to keep his eyes to the floor. _Concentrate on what matters_ , he chided himself, but a steadily sinking feeling had him pretty sure that he already was. But if he'd been paying more attention to Nate and Sophie, he might've heard something important.

He looked up to find Sophie pressing herself away from the desk she'd been leaning against, her irritation bubbling over as she stalked in Nate's direction. "This _wasn't_ a normal job. He had us made from the very start! He managed two kidnappings and I'm still not sure how! It _does_ lend one to become a bit distrustful, don't you suppose? So, yes, I played it close. Yes, I knew where he was the moment he arrived at the Carlyle. I wanted it to work, so I _made_ it work, and I'm sorry- to all of you- for keeping you in the dark, but would you have had me do nothing at all? Would you really have me risk it?"

"Yes!" Nate was red-faced, his hands claws at his side, but Apollo's uncomfortable cough seemed to shake him out of it. He deflated. "Well. I mean. I suppose I should thank you, you know? I mean. I wouldn't have." He shook his head and started again. "You're right."

Agreement, Eliot hadn't been expecting, and even if Hardison was barely in the room, Parker was equally baffled.

"If you hadn't walked out on us, I wouldn't have had the idea to let Parker out in the wind. So, thanks for giving us something to fight about."

"That does seem to be working well for you," Sophie muttered, still bitter,

Nate's mouth was a grim line. "Yeah, well. Not intending on letting it happen again, believe me."

The full import of his words hung icily in the air, and even he looked surprised at them. The only movement was Sophie's face, trying not to crumble, and Parker twitching, about to run. Hardison was frozen, his eyes shut tight.

Eliot leaned over, catching at Parker's arm before she could flee. She knew what this was, same as him, and if he didn't derail this, it would only get worse.

This entire fucking thing had been an inquisition, right from the fucking start, but it hadn't been his.

"Okay," he said, swallowing a scream. "We're dropping this. Right the hell now." He knew damn well that he was pushing it, the daggers he was shooting at Nate, but didn't care. "We got out alive. Cleaned up our trail. We'll be out of here first thing in the morning, and we can talk about it. Later."

He was surprised to see his order carried out so efficiently, everyone filing out of the room without another word until it was just him and Nate, who was too tired to keep fighting. Unfortunately, Eliot's momentum had only been temporary, and he found himself with nothing to say.

Nate, though, standing at the window and looking out, summed it up perfectly.

"We were never supposed to have to worry about any of this. We weren't supposed to have bodies to hide."

Eliot nodded, forced a calm breath or two as he slowly stood up, measuring his words. "That wasn't Sophie's fault. She's not the one that deserves this. None of them are."

"Hm," Nate said, over his shoulder, as Eliot reached for the doorknob. "Either do you, you know."

"Yeah." _That ain't for you to decide._

\---

Alec was too tired to actually get into bed properly, and too anxious to sleep. Not with Eliot across the hall, having some secret meeting with Nate. Not with Nate's last angry words looping through his head. Not with a dead body hidden somewhere in the city.

 _Evidence. It's evidence. You clean up evidence every day. It's what you do._

Being rescued from kidnappers, he reasoned, wasn't supposed to be the beginning of a downward spiral.

 _You don't even know what a good day looks like anymore, do you?_

The sound of the door opening startled him out of his reverie so much that he forgot to not look at Eliot head-on. His sudden appearance didn't make him any less uneasy, and he was starting to get pissed, waiting for himself to just get over it, already. Whatever this was.

 _It wasn't murder._

"Hey," he offered, when he got caught staring. "Uh. Wasn't thinkin', man. Just kind of wound up in here. I can go, see about getting another room, if you want."

"What?" Eliot squinted at him. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm good," Alec affirmed, and wondered when, exactly, that was going to become true, before a yawn stretched his throat. "Tired," he mumbled.

Eliot didn't respond, so he summoned the last of his energy to pull the covers back and climb into bed. _Finally_ he lay down, a little warm already. The shirt stayed on, though, and he told himself it was because of exhaustion.

 _A man died tonight, and took the team down with him._

Eyes closed, he listened to Eliot puttering around the room for a minute, then brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He was a little surprised to find that he was still awake when he felt the bed dip next to him.

Eliot turned off the bedside lamp, before lying down on his back. He wasn't wearing the sling anymore, but he was holding his injured arm carefully in place.

 _Probably re-injured it digging you out of your mess while you were upstairs puking_ , he thought guiltily. _Nice._.

Eliot was rigid as a board, and as close to the edge of the bed as it was possible to be without falling off. If Alec hadn't been so slow to figure out what the hell was going on, he probably would have done the same. But moving now would be too obvious.

And maybe it was all this dark shit hanging overhead, but he was starting to think that he didn't really want to. He could have done with Eliot being a bit closer, actually, if he was being honest. Like maybe he thought it could dispel a little more gloom. He wasn't about to say it, though, wouldn't have known even if they were the people they'd been last week, so he asked instead, "El. We cool?"

"Yeah," came the hoarse reply, and a little more of the tension melted away, down into the mattress. A minute or an hour later, Eliot might have said something more, but Alec might have dreamed it.

\---

Hardison was asleep, dead to the world, and Eliot tried to follow suit.

It wasn't working, particularly. Not in the least. He lasted all of fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, muscles tensed, debating every second whether he should ask Hardison, again, if he was actually all right.

 _If he was too freaked out to be here, you'd know. It's fine_ , he tried convincing himself, but it would have sounded better, coming from Hardison. If he would have said something, if he would have fucking answered.

Another two minutes, and he gave up. He moved slowly, unable to tell if he'd woken him or not, and cast around the darkened room, trying to find a practical reason to be up.

His bag was sitting on the dresser, next to the television, open and inviting the way everything else wasn't, not any more. He began to pack.

It didn't take long, even one-handedly.

 _You're still a fucking professional when it comes to leaving_ , he thought angrily, jerking the zipper shut.

Over on the bed, Hardison was stirring, maybe even waking up, and professional or not, this scene never worked with an audience.

He waited, frozen, for a long moment, fingers clasped on the zipper pull, His brain sped on, taking a mental inventory of the duffel bag's contents. Pill bottles, tools, the computer drives that Parker had slipped him back in the elevator. There would be noise, when he picked the bag up. No way to make it out without waking Hardison.

 _Who's so unsettled by your presence, so afraid of you, so untrusting, that he fell asleep two feet from you._

Who's exactly that naïve.

Eliot released his hold on the bag, carefully. He'd have to go without.

His wallet slipped silently into the pocket of his shirt, picking up his shoes as he crossed to the door, he stooped to put them on only when the door was eased shut behind him, leaving him in the empty hallway.

He heard hushed giggling in the room next door as he passed, Parker's voice cutting off happily. It should have made him smirk, at least, but instead it tore at him, the thought that when it finished falling apart, when they went their separate ways, at least she might not have to go it alone. It was selfish, and he knew it, and he punched the call button on the elevator more sharply than he probably needed to.

Stepping into the ornate lobby downstairs, he nodded at the woman behind the counter, whose tired face still managed to break into a bright smile. It was probably why they hired her, being so cheerful at three in the morning. Any other day, he would have grinned back, but instead he wished he hadn't noticed.

Five floors above, everything he wanted was circling in a holding pattern, awaiting final descent. He didn't have it in him for manners.

Noise. Lights. Traffic. Cold air cut through him as he stepped out into the night. Drunken laughter drifted from across the street and the world was still moving, for everyone else, at least, if not for him. Another cab was pulling up to the queue at the end of the block, and it was as good a destination as any.

The rest, he'd figure out at the airport.

\---

The only reason he'd survived as long as he did is that he never missed the people in the shadows, even when he wasn't looking for them. Especially then. He knew when to pretend to overlook them, and he knew when to engage.

So the lone figure standing, cigarette in hand, just outside the pool of light spilling from the hotel's entrance wasn't any sort of challenge, even though it was a surprise.

"I didn't know you smoked," he stopped, rocking on the balls of his feet and trying for casual.

"I don't, not often," Sophie grinned with damp eyes. "I had to borrow one from the girl at the counter."  
 _What's your excuse_ , she didn't ask, and he was relieved not to have to answer.

There was a long moment where he didn't know what to say. _Goodbye_ seemed harsh, even in the relative darkness. "So," he trailed off, words failing to follow naturally, and he cast about, eventually coming up with the most basic of questions. "What are you doin' out here?"

Wiping at her face, she ground the cigarette into the concrete ashtray, grinning bitterly. "It's a lot harder to ask for forgiveness when you actually care whether or not you'll get it, you know?"

He nodded, _Yeah. Got that_ , and tried to guess what his mom would say. She'd always been good, most of the time, with things like that. Once upon a time, and he fucking _missed_ her. "You got mine, if it counts for anything," he said, reluctant to continue. "But you had to know that you could trust Nate, at least."

"It wasn't any of you I didn't trust, it was the rest of this mad world."

"And Tara," Eliot raised his palms in surrender as his words hit too hard. "Not. I'm not lookin' to start a fight. Tired of it. Far as I'm concerned, we're good. I mean. Weren't for you doin' what you did, we'd be screwed. Even if you did scare the hell out of us."

Sophie tipped her head forward, her hair sliding down her face like a theater curtain. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just." She raised her head again, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking out over the lights like she could steal them all, if she wanted, but she still needed a moment to collect herself, it seemed. "You should get back inside. Check on Hardison, the poor thing's had a tough time of it."

Awareness of shapes in shadows wasn't the only thing that had kept Eliot living so long. Reprieves, though more rare in occurrence, he understood equally well. He took one step back, and then another.

"And Eliot? Thank you."

"You too," he said, heading back inside. Despite himself, he was a little taken aback to find that he meant it.

He was a little more surprised to see Nate standing at the front counter, begging the still-smiling night clerk to find him a flower shop that delivered this late at night.


	19. Chapter 19

  
The sound of the zipper had roused Alec far too early, but it was the finality of the shutting door that kept him awake.

It might have been what had his stomach in a knot, too, but it could have been waking too soon that caused the unpleasant sensation. He scowled at the alarm clock. That had to be it, he couldn't have been asleep for more than half an hour.

And he'd still woken up too late. Eliot had already left. And after all this, Alec didn't know if he was supposed to be heartbroken- because it was feeling like it was going that way- or not.

If this were a movie, he'd be tearing at the bed sheets by now, not lying there, trying to decide how to feel. And maybe it was a sign, some sort of omen, whatever, one of those things that didn't happen in real life.

It wasn't just that this was probably the end of the team.

It wasn't just that he was leaving, or that they'd never got the chance to figure out what they could be. Not when part of it- _most_ of it- the part that was making him curl up on himself, was the suspicion of what _would_ be.

Eliot had left, but Alec didn't know if it was the Eliot who grumbled constantly about missing games, but wouldn't buy a damned television. The Eliot who cooked for the crew, when the mood hit, and who kept a garden in the back yard. Who kissed bravely and who would have met him, that night, when everything went to hell.

Maybe the Eliot who had left was the one who followed orders and knew when not to, who kept a clear eye out, alert on jobs. Or maybe it was the Eliot who killed when he had to, and sometimes when he didn't. Who didn't stop to see the damage he caused, trailing bodies and blood, deserved or not, in his wake.

If Alec hadn't been so useless, if he would've just manned up and said something. If he'd been _aware_ , with it, not this purposeless mess, he wouldn't be left contemplating the odds, wondering who Eliot would become next.

But it wasn't so simple, splitting him out like that, boiling him down into his constituent parts. It wasn't that easy. _Take any of those out of the equation, and the sum winds up different_. It wasn't much easier, though, taking him as a whole.

A few months ago, he wouldn't even have to puzzle it out, Alec would have known what to think. But this fucked headspace he was in now was evidence enough that he'd lost whatever distance he'd had. Muddied the waters. He didn't even know if he was overreacting, anymore.

He didn't know if he should even be lying here, broken up and missing him. He just knew that he was.

\---

Light swung into the room, painting the walls from the hallway as the door opened, slowly.

The footsteps edging inside were familiar, if hesitant, but Alec didn't turn to face them. It didn't matter much, anyway. Closing the door behind him, Eliot seemed to know that he was awake, but spoke quietly, like he was willing to let him pretend, if he wanted to. "Hey."

Alec waited for the light to turn on, preparing for the embarrassment. When it didn't, he allowed himself to roll over, raised his head search him out in the dark. "Where'd you go?"

"Needed some air," Eliot explained, the act of lying apparently enough to goad him into movement. He toed out of his shoes and took his cap off, but then the momentum was lost again, and he was left standing, barefoot, in the middle of the room, lost.

Pretending that his eyes hadn't adjusted, that he hadn't seen his apprehension, the terrifying combination of hope and misery, Alec let his head fall back against the pillow and made a decision that should've come more easily. "You need to get some sleep, man. Seriously."

Eliot emptied his pockets onto the nightstand before climbing, barely, into the bed, no further from the edge than he'd been before, and mumbling something Alec couldn’t hear.

"Hm?"

"Said, you doin' okay?"

 _No_ , Alec wanted to answer, because it had been emphatically true a moment ago, and it probably should have been now, too. "Yeah. Just want to go home."

"Good. Yeah." And that was the end of it, or so Alec thought, but Eliot continued, his words fast and hushed. "I'm real sorry? About everything?"

It was the most fucked kind of thing to say, Alec thought. He sounded like a funeral guest, _I'm sorry for your loss, but your brother's in a better place now_. Someone cautiously offering a bright side, knowing it was still too early to be accepted, or maybe casting out the words, experimentally, to see if they'd work.

 _Yeah, I know a man died, but he deserved it?_

Sorry you got caught up in the middle, but it won't happen again?

Sorry you had to go through all of this, but I hid the body?

He'd stood in that hallway, listened to shower curtains being dragged across the floor, duct tape being pulled off the roll. That had been _seriously_ fucked. It was something murderers did, hiding the bodies, hiding the evidence.

It was a bit more than just covering their tracks. It was a bit more than Alec could do.

 _"What are you doing?" Eliot asked, having to squint down at the computer screen, because Parker, asleep on the couch, still wore his glasses._

"Monitoring and cleanup," Alec read on, making sure the auction house wasn't reporting anything out of the ordinary.

"What's that mean?"

"The usual."

Eliot tried again, more emphatically. "What's that mean?"

"Making sure the jobs we cleared stay clear," Alec explained, wondering why he was interested, and then began to show him how.

He didn't know why he was remembering that particular part of that particular night, since what had happened later, at the bar, usually figured more heavily in his thoughts, but sometimes his brain drew connections before he realized them.

What Eliot had done was the same thing that Alec did, routinely. Removed all traces of themselves from the scene. Fingerprints, this time, instead of banking transactions, plastic wrap and garbage bags instead of falsified police records.

And he got it. The statements weren't questions because Eliot was asking himself if he meant them. He was asking Alec if he'd _hear_ them.

And useless as Alec was, he still hadn't managed a response.

\---

Even with only the hint of streetlights creeping in around the edges of the curtain, he could see that Hardison was thinking about it, hard.

He wasn't taking it lightly. Wasn't blowing him off. He was trying to puzzle out the solution, same way he did, sometimes, when it was important.

 _At least it matters enough to consider_ , Eliot decided, repeating it in his head, because even if this went all the way straight down to hell, it might be the closest thing he had to a handhold. Hardison wasn't damning him outright.

He wondered, briefly, what Hardison would say if he realized how much was hinging on the next words that came out of his mouth. It was why he hadn't mentioned anything, not Nate's last words to him, or what Sophie had told him about forgiveness, five minutes before he got what she'd meant.

And he was fooling himself if he couldn't admit why it was, exactly, that Hardison's opinion mattered most, above the others. Maybe he'd find out, later, sometime, if Alec saw it too. But he wasn't going to set himself up to hope for that, not now.

Hardison was blinking, shaking his head a little like he'd just remembered something, but Eliot managed to keep himself breathing.

"I'm freaked, okay. I'll give you that." It wasn't downright dismissal, but Eliot's throat constricted nonetheless. "Tonight was fucked. Seriously. Bad scene, and I don't have it all figured out yet. Don't think anyone does. It's gonna take some time." Hardison scowled at the ceiling. "Were you lookin' to bail, just then?"

He could have said something about going out for ice, but Alec had already seen through getting some air.  
 _But I came back_ , he wanted to explain, but instead, he just nodded.

"Do that again, and we're gonna have problems." Alec turned to look at him, hard, and must have seen something he didn't like, because he hurried to finish. "Aside from that, I ain't mad at you. For anything, not tonight, and not for bad shit going down a decade before I even knew you."

\---

Alec hadn't been able to do much, lately, he'd been all too aware of it, but he'd somehow managed to get that carefully blank expression off Eliot's scuffed face. Even now, as ripped open and raw as he seemed, the steel was easing, not breaking, and it was almost too much to deal with.

It was easier to lie back and reach out than it was to keep looking at him, not if he didn't want to start crying, or worse. He'd just spent four days having to ask men with guns if he'd be allowed to go to the _bathroom_. There was only so much humiliation a man could take.

Sixteen seconds went by, slowly, before Eliot edged into position, maneuvering his injured arm carefully across Alec's chest, and it was terrifying to think that he'd be able to feel exactly how fast his heart was going. Eliot's head was pressed against his arm, low enough that Alec could feel his breath, but not see his eyes. It also meant the reverse was true.

It was a bit of a relief. He was too tired to keep fucking worrying about it.

Eventually, they settled, one arm wrapped loosely against Eliot's back, his other hand on his own stomach, a few inches below Eliot's.

Alec basked in the weight that pushing him lightly down into the mattress, down into sleep. He was close enough to coma that when Eliot began moving cautiously across his chest, pulling at his hand, he thought he was dreaming it.

He felt lips brushing his knuckles, and he had to bite his lip, because when they got past this? Out of this room and out of this hotel and away from this entire fuckstorm of a season?

He wasn't going to let Eliot live it down.

\---

"Hey man, c'mon."

Alec's first thought, opening his eyes to see the curtains thrown back and daylight streaming in, was _you can't be serious_. His second was that Eliot looked like hell. The shadows under his eyes seemed to spread out to the rest of his face, and he really needed a shave. He wasn't wearing quite so many layers, for once, but the sling was back, and needed to be washed, or maybe burned.

 _Keep talkin', 'cause you're all GQ right now yourself._

"Sophie called. Something's up."

Alec's third or fourth thought was _oh. shit_.

Retrieving his earpiece from the nightstand, Alec threw the blankets aside and started for the bathroom, where his suspicions regarding his own haggard appearance were proven unpleasantly true. With a longing glance at the shower, and the thick cream towels on the rack, he grabbed a plastic-wrapped toothbrush from the counter, sending up thanks to whatever gods oversaw the amenities in expensive hotels.

"What is it?" he asked, his mouth full of foam. Someone could be hurt. They could have been seen. Hastings. _The body_ could have been discovered. They might have left prints.

There was no response on comms. "Dunno. Get your shoes on," Eliot barked from his post by the window, scanning the streets below and the windows across the street.

 _Well, hell_ , Alec thought, tightening his laces a moment later. _Least we ain't got the time for things to get awkward._

\---

Behind him, Hardison was carrying the duffel bag, and for once, seemed to know that now was not the time for chatter or complaints. Ahead, a guy in a suit was fumbling with the newspaper and his briefcase as he pressed the elevator's call button.

Eliot slowed his pace, raised a hand to signal Hardison to do likewise. The man hadn't looked in their direction, and really, it was only Sophie's phone call that had him suspicious, but they took the stairs down, instead.

Sophie had been watching the elevator doors, and spun, startled, when she heard them approach. "There you are!"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know," she nodded back over her shoulder to where Nate was having a hushed and intense looking conversation with a man that might have been the hotel manager. "He's figuring it out right now, told me to wait for you."

"Where are the others?" Hardison asked, just as Parker came in through the glass doors, coffee in hand, her eyes already puzzled at the scene they all made.

"Tara went to the airport an hour ago, and I'm presuming Parker and Apollo said their goodbyes privately?" Sophie asked Parker, who slowed to a stop next to her, brows quirked, already aware that something was going down.

"What's going on? Why aren't we on comms?" she asked.

"Laptop's in the bag," Hardison indicated the satchel Nate had slung over his shoulder, but it didn't matter, though, because Nate was gesturing carefully, nodding once, and heading back in their direction with a warning expression on his face.

 _Stay cool_ , he was saying, so they waited for him to come to a standstill in front of them.

"I believe we've got the third bomb. I overheard maintenance reporting that they found a strange device in the basement. Right next to the elevator shaft."

" _Seriously_?"

"From what they can tell, it's not live, but they're checking it out. Lucky for them, there are five ATF agents who just happened to be in town.

"You brought the IDs?" This, of course, was the detail that threw Hardison.

"Didn't know what to expect, did I?" Nate smirked. "Doesn't matter, right now, they're worried about a possible panic. What we need to do is dismantle and remove it, and do a sweep to make sure there aren't any more."

"How are we going to know _that_?"

"I'm on it," Hardison asked, reaching for the laptop bag. "I'm gonna need a look at the one they found before it's dismantled."

Earpieces were inserted as Nate doled out the assignments. "Okay, Hardison, you're with Parker. Sophie, the manager's close to having a nervous breakdown, I need her kept calm, and we'll need to share information. Eliot, you're with me," he said, heading towards the front door.

"I should-" he scowled, momentarily watching Hardison and Parker's progress towards the stairs, before turning a hard stare in Nate's direction, finding him tense, but confident, like he knew he had something to prove.

And maybe he had the means to do it, too. "They got this. You and I, we've got something else." He started for the main entrance, beckoning Eliot to follow.

Eliot waited until they were standing on the sidewalk before cornering him, guessing what the _something else_ was. "How did they know where to plant it?"

Nate's half grin was amused, almost, as he stepped around the corner into the alley, out of the way of pedestrians. "How would you do it? Plant them in several locations, play the odds?"

"Sloppy. And overkill. Waste of resources."

"We got it," Hardison came suddenly on the comms. "It's dead, no worries. Now don't panic, I have to turn it on again to pull the radio frequency, isolate the pingbacks, if I can determine the pattern…"

"Hardison," Eliot warned, but Nate was talking over him. "Great. Don't blow anything up."

"Parker's already stripped the C4."

"C4? That's all they used?"

"It's all they _needed_. They placed it well." Parker replied. "Too well. I'm not seeing any other devices, but I don't think they would have needed them. I'll keep looking."

"All right, you do that." Nate was stepping out of the alley, surveying the sidewalk and hotel entrance, one of the valets stepping toward the car that was pulling up. "Sophie, pass it along?" His attention shifting back to Eliot, he continued. "So Hastings. His crew. They had to know where we were staying."

"Hate to say it, but you're right," Hardison said. "Though maybe that's good. I don't know. I'm only looking at eighteen percent completion right here, but the timing of the pingbacks? They're coming in threes. All the bombs are accounted for. But Nate, man. There ain't no way I can get any more information out of this thing."

"That's fine. I have an idea. Eliot, follow my lead, but disagree with everything I'm about to say."

"What?" But Nate was already stepping out around the corner, leaving him no choice but to follow.

"It's the right thing to do, Eliot," he was saying, more loudly now. "Pay it forward, you know that."

"But-" not having enough of a lead to go on, he shook his head, confusion working just as well as disagreement. "You don't even-"

"What," Nate spun on him, deliberately not looking at the valets standing by the door. "If it wasn't for them, we'd be up shit creek, and you know it. It's not like we can't afford to be generous, here."

"What is this, another one of the twelve steps?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, cutting him a bemused look. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong." Eliot rolled his eyes, and that, apparently, was the reaction Nate had been waiting for. Resuming his stride, he approached the jacket-clad valets, who had been watching the exchange with interest, but they were standing a little straighter, now.

"Excuse me. I was wondering if you could help me out, and pardon me if this seems strange, but. Do either of you recognize me?"

"Uh," they shared an uneasy look. "No," said the first. "Sorry, sir."

The other one, however, hesitated, and when their attention lit on him, he scratched at his collar. "Yes, sir. I was told to watch for you."

A sidelong glance told Eliot that Nate was grinning affably, putting them at their ease. "See, Eliot? I knew it!"

"All right, fine," Eliot put his hands in his pockets and looked out over the street, feigning bemused disinterest.

"You see," Nate was saying, "I lost something that was very valuable of mine a few days ago, only to find that last night, when I came back, it had been returned, waiting at the front desk. I'm looking for the parties, ah, responsible, I guess. There was no note attached, see, so I don't know how to contact my, ah, Samaritans, to show my appreciation."

Puzzlement was all he received in response, at first, and Eliot was starting to think that this was a dead end, but then the valet went into his pocket. "Yeah. There was a guy…" He pulled out a piece of paper. "Showed up yesterday morning. Said he'd found something that wasn't his and wanted to return it. Gave me this."

Taking the crumpled up piece of paper, Nate held it so Eliot could read four descriptions. His, Parker's, Sophie's, and Nate's. Not down to the last detail or anything, but close enough for anyone paying attention. He frowned, though, and so did Nate.

"Did you happen to get a name?"

"No sir. Just the phone number, so we could call if we saw you. Big guy. Long hair, looked like that bounty hunter guy on TV." Over the comms, Hardison laughed.

"Weird. Eliot, you recognize him?"

"Yeah, there was one guy. Think I remember him," he considered. "So he must've gone to all the hotels, asked around."

"That's what he said," the valet confirmed. "I called the number, he gave me twenty bucks, as, like, thanks."

"Excellent, excellent," Nate reached into his pocket with one hand. "You mind if I keep this?" he waved the paper, and the valet shrugged. "If it wasn't for what you did, I would be a dead man, right now, so thank you."

Eliot was surprised when Nate opened his wallet to hand over a few large bills, but held his tongue. That Nate answered him, regardless, was hardly a surprise.

"Small price to pay, don't you think?"

Rolling his eyes, Eliot opened the door.

\---

Eliot, Nate and Sophie were waiting in the lobby when they arrived, disassembled remnants of the bomb sequestered in Parker's overnight bag.

"What was that all about?" Alec asked, and received a crumpled piece of paper in return. Ten digits. A phone number. "Dog?"

"What?"

"Nothing. The guy." Confused, but not knowing where to go with it, he shook off their blank stares, and the silence was deafening. "We done here?"

He wished he hadn't asked, waiting for next bombardment, the next crash of bad news. From the looks of it, he wasn't the only one.

Nodding once, with certain finality, Nate tossed the keys in his hand and started for the door.

They were done.

"C'mon," Nate grumbled, confused as to why no one was following. "Let's go home."

Maybe they weren't as done as he'd thought.

Outside, the valets retrieved Sophie's truck in record time, rushing around doors to load the luggage in the back, a two-person swarm in yellow nylon.

Inside, though, everything was still, besides Sophie's hands steering them through traffic. And maybe if the radio had been on, or there was something more interesting going on outside, Alec wouldn't have been aware of exactly how heavy the silence was becoming.

But then Parker stirred, looked at her watch. "Twenty minutes. All that, and we're only twenty minutes late."

Up front, Nate was leaning back against the seat, looking smug, and Sophie was threatening to break into a grin.

Next to him, on the seat, Eliot shifted slightly, a little bit closer, so Alec did, too, before asking, "Nate, man. How'd you know Dog told him he had something of yours?"

Sophie glanced back at in the rearview. "Dog?"

"Like on TV," Alec shrugged. Until he got home, got his hands on a computer, the nickname would have to suffice.

"Oh, that,' Nate scratched at his hair. "Easy. You want to know someone's comings and goings, you know, you look for witnesses. If it wasn't the valet, it would've been someone working the desk inside, then it was just, ah…"

"Grifting 101," Sophie cut in. "You don't let them know _why_ you want to know _what_ you want to know."

"Right. Dog, or whatever his name is, far as I can tell, isn't stupid. A Samaritan is less suspicious than a hit man. He would have had to play it soft, and I just cribbed off his game."

"Cool," Parker said happily to Nate, leaning over Sophie's seat. "See? Don't worry, you still know how to run a con." Alec shot her a frustrated look. _Too early to go there_. Nate was glaring out the window again, and Sophie had tensed in the silence. He didn't want to be so obvious as to try reading Eliot's face.

Alec let another quarter mile slip past before speaking. "Way I see it, man, is that even without a plan, hell, even with all your cross purposes, or whatever- it's cool. Even with all that nastiness that went down, you still managed to keep to what was important."

"And what's _that_?" Eliot was staring at him, he could feel it, and Nate was likewise hanging on his next words.

"Getting my ass the hell _out_ of there."

\---

Maybe it was because usually, out of town jobs routed them through the airport, where they'd disperse upon arrival. Maybe it was because usually, by the time Eliot was halfway home, he knew what came next. Dinner, shower, a nap, if he needed it, or a beer out in the garden.

 _It's probably gone all to hell by now_ , Eliot was thinking, irritably, as if dead plants that were really his biggest concern. Because this time was different, and it wasn't just the long hours sitting quiet in the back seat.

Right now, he had no idea what came next. What would happen when they got back. He hadn't even figured out what he'd say to Hardison when they parted ways.

"…Nah, man," Hardison was speaking over the talk show on the radio. "If they're _really_ going out and pulling half the crap this dude's saying, if I dig around in Seattle, someone's likely to come up with a case."

"Everyone's lawyered up already," Nate pointed out. "It's going to be hard to find clients, what with all the confidentiality agreements flying around, but…" He was considering it, but Eliot didn't ask what he'd missed, and Hardison was already talking a mile a minute, anyway. Whatever the game was, between the two of them, they'd have it figured out before they passed the next exit.

The effect of the realization, the moment of relative calm, was surprising.

Outside Worcester, a third or fourth wave of insane giddiness swept over him, but he kept his eyes out the window, and didn't let on. Turned his head into the glass a little more in case anyone saw him grinning like a moron.

When they got out for gas and coffee in Hartford, he realized exactly how much the warmth from Hardison's body had been easing the ache radiating down into his arm, and wished, idly, that they were making the drive on their own. He toyed with the idea of actually telling Hardison as much, but he was already inside, regarding the coolers, and it was too bright, with too many people inside, for saying anything that sounded so stupid.

Over by the coolers, Hardison had his arms raised tightly back over his head, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to reveal a thin strip of skin at his lower back. More than anything, even more than the fleeting thought to touch, Eliot was jealous of the movement. He wouldn't be able to stretch painlessly for another week or two, at least. He had a sinking suspicion, though, that Sophie had managed to catch him staring, maybe even blushing. Furiously. Which only served to make it worse, so he regarded the disturbingly large selection of artificially flavored creamers he had no intention of using, and didn't move away until she was already at the register.

Another lull in the conversation, as they were passing Bridgeport, he was overcome with the need to jump out of the vehicle while it was still moving. Because Hardison was right there, next to him, close enough to touch, and things that made sense at three in the morning looked different in the afternoon, and there was no way this entire thing with Hardison was going to end well, for either of them, at all, only…

 _It hasn't, yet._

Okay, so he'd nearly bailed, last night, but he'd come back. Crashed out with Hardison and woken up in one piece. And maybe it meant that they had a thing, now. Or _were_ a thing, now. And at some point, if they ever made it out of this overpopulated car, he'd run out of excuses, be able to ask.

\---

Alec's body was stiff, and he'd been failing, consistently, for the past hour or so. It wasn't that he didn't know how to talk to people, but he didn't need an audience. And as he'd been able to find, there was no way to ask Eliot what was going to happen next, were they okay, what were the chances that they'd ever figure this out, not without the others hearing everything.

Every once in a while, he would catch Eliot almost looking at him, irritated, willing him to figure it out, to decode the damned thing already, but every time, he'd come up blank.

 _Can I call you?_ would have been the simplest, he knew it, but he'd been living up to all the lowest of his expectations for days, now.

And maybe he was misreading Eliot's frustration, anyway. Maybe he didn't want him to say anything, maybe he just wanted out of the damn car. Maybe his shoulder was bothering him, and maybe he had regrets. Maybe it wasn't impatience, maybe it was just dread.

So Alec held his tongue and watched Boston grow closer.

\---

Sophie dropped Parker off first. "Hang on a sec," She said before getting out, leaning over the back seat to rummage through her overnight bag. Kneeling on the seat, she handed Alec the two drives he'd stripped from the warehouse computer, which had been, last he checked, locked in a drawer in his desk.

He accepted them with a chagrined nod, but she didn't seem to be expecting him to say thanks.

The door closed, and Sophie was pulling away from the curb, and at this point, there was no reason to be sitting so close to Eliot, so close to his closed-off features, so he slid over to Parker's vacated spot. He hefted the drives once, though, and held them out.

"What're-" Eliot started to ask. Realizing exactly what they were, disgust swept across his eyes as the corners of his mouth tensed, a moment, before he took them, one at a time, settling them next to him on the seat. He exhaled sharply; it could have been a laugh. "You care if I take a hammer to these?"

"Only way I ever want to see them again is if they're on fire." Alec wiped his hands on his leg. "But that should work too."

Eliot grinned then, considering it for a few moments, before rocking his head back and deciding, "Chainsaw."

"Acid."

"C4." Nate turned his head at this, looking a little concerned, but said nothing.

"You know where we can find a rail gun?"

Eliot shook his head.

"Left on the launch pad at Cape Canaveral, then." Alec was out of options that weren't based entirely in science fiction, and Eliot wasn't coming up with any more, and anyway, they were already in front of his building, and he hadn't managed to man up enough to say anything important.

\---

Finally showered and shaved and dressed in his own damn clothes, Alec made his way to the kitchen. After staring at the cupboards for what might have been half an hour, wishing he had the energy to make it down to the corner store, he nuked a bag of popcorn and grabbed a soda out of the fridge, kicking the door shut.

Another hour or so, and he'd run out of internet to browse. He knew that he needed to do _something_ to get his head running again, but the paints were all the way in the other room, and his brain was refusing to gear up. Even the TiVo options were almost too much to deal with, so he selected one at random and lay down on the couch. If he couldn't get his brain functioning, he'd kill it instead.

\---

His phone rang a little after nine. Nate was probably calling to inform him about a new client, or something, and that Alec would have to be there in ten hours ready to go off again, another airport, another hotel. Even before that, he'd have to spend the night researching, pulling apart financials, tracking airline miles, the rest of it.

He let the call go to voicemail. The team could wait another day or so to find out exactly how useless he was. Eliot probably suspected already.

 _Stop it. You just need some sleep. Real sleep. In your own damned bed. Which is right up the stairs, no problem._

Dragging himself up off the couch, he switched off the television and headed back to his room. Plugging his nearly drained phone into the charger, he considered setting the alarm, before deciding not to. He shut the ringer off as well. The only reason he knew Eliot was calling was because two minutes after he shut off the lights, he hadn't yet shut his eyes.

He reached for it, and answered, annoyed at how strongly the _anticipation_ felt.

Maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed. Sure, _he_ hadn't managed to string four words together, but at least _Eliot_ was trying. "Hey," he said, but even to his own ears, his voice fell flat.

  
In answer, Eliot's voice was gruff, tense and accusing. "Nate said he called a while ago, and you didn't pick up."

"Yeah?" Alec fell back against the pillow and decided to lie. "I was sleeping. What's up?"

\---

Eliot stopped his pacing. _You didn't answer the damn phone_ , he thought, irritably. "Nate found a new client. Nothing going on until next week, but he wanted to give you fair warning." _He called here looking for you when you didn't answer, and I've been freaking out for the past five minutes, because I thought you were gone, or dead, or just avoiding us. Me._

He set his keys down again, and eased back out of his coat, carefully. "So yeah, uh. That was it. How're you doing? Tired?"

"Beat all to hell, and out of milk." Hardison's voice was low, a little more gravelly than usual. "How's the arm?"

"Waiting for the painkillers to kick in," which was true, but not why he'd called, and it would've been nice, really nice, if Hardison would show some signs of life, maybe let him know that Eliot wasn't boring the hell out of him, but screw it. _He's not the one that has shit to make up for._ "So listen, I was thinking. Your car probably got towed by now. You need a ride to the pick it up tomorrow?"

"Shit." Hardison coughed, and there was rustling on the line. Sounding much more alert, however, he continued. "You know, I hadn't even thought about that. Lame, right?"

"You've had a lot on your plate. Only reason I thought of it was something Nate said." _When he asked if I'd checked up on you yet, and told me I was a jackass without saying anything at all._ "So yeah. Give me a call when you want me to come get you. And then maybe we can do something afterward, if you're feeling up to it." Unsure of what he was trying to gain, tossing it in there like maybe it wouldn't be noticed, he only felt more foolish as the answering silence lengthened.

"I don't know man," Hardison eventually replied, but the humor was back in his voice. "First date was awesome, but how're you going to top my getting kidnapped?"

"What, the impound lot on a Saturday isn't hellish enough? Want me to make reservations for root canals somewhere?"

"Awesome," Hardison agreed, laughing, and then there was another pause. "I'll, uh. Call you in the afternoon."

"Cool, looking forward to it," Eliot said, wondering if it had come out as nerdy as he suspected it had, and glad that nobody but his reflection knew exactly how red in the face he was getting.

Hardison, though, didn't sound like he was doing much better. "Me too. So. Yeah. I'm gonna. Head to sleep, here. So, uh. Good night, man."

"You too, g'night," Eliot said, and hung up the phone before he could say anything more ridiculous.

\---

The sun was out, but it had snowed something awful over the night, and the line was stretching out of the impound building and across the parking lot.

Even as freezing as it was, standing there, Eliot had ignored his first three offers to meet back up at his house. At the fourth, he merely smirked, saying "I'm not letting you out of my sight, man," and squinted against the harsh glare of the snow, like it was nothing. And maybe he hadn't heard himself saying it, maybe Alec was just reading too much into it, but when another blast of cold blasted through them, it wasn't any great hardship to step just a little bit closer, shield him from the wind just a little bit.

Eventually, though, they made it up to the counter, Alec got his directions, and Eliot went back out to his own truck. Ten long minutes later, turning out of the lot, he was surprised to find the truck waiting, following him into traffic, and then all the way out to Hough's Neck. He only had to wait a minute, or so, for Eliot to pull into the driveway.

"Sorry, man, got held up at the lights."

"I dig," Alec followed him into the house, feeling the anticipation coiled low in his gut, now that he was no longer distracted by driving. It was early, yet, not even night, and the hours stretched in front of him, blank and waiting. Chili would be involved at some point, he could smell it already.

Eliot closed the door behind them, slowly, and turned around with the same sort of ease that he wore in a fight, all easy confidence, except for the self-deprecating grin for what it really was. Alec held his ground, didn't let himself look away, though it would have been easier.

"What?" Eliot asked, smirking 'cause he knew he'd been caught out.

"Nothing," Alec shrugged, trying not to smile too wide. "You." Eliot snorted, but it was becoming quickly apparent that if they were ever going to move this out of the entryway, Alec would have to go first. So he took one step backwards, and then another, before turning and heading into the kitchen.

\---

There was another half hour left to go on the chili, and at that point, at least, they'd be occupied.

He still hadn't figured out how, exactly, one talked with Alec Hardison, let alone _flirted_ with him. It usually wasn't this hard to get _some_ sort of conversation going, but then again, usually he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Hardison didn't really seem down, for the most part, unhappy or anything, but he'd been quiet ever since they'd found him.

Maybe he should have waited, put this off. Given the guy a day or two to get his head together, before forcing all this shit on him.

 _But you didn't, so stop being an idiot and get the man a drink._

"Got a while, before the food's done. You want a beer? Otherwise we got whiskey, soda…"

"Beer's cool, thanks," Hardison said, watching him set the oven to preheating, clearly at loose ends. "You need any help with that?"

"Nah, man, chili's doin' it's own thing now, and this will only take a minute. You wanna go put some music on?" Cracking two beers, he handed one over.

Hardison looked amused, finally, a lot less uncomfortable. "Any requests?"

"You find anything, throw it on, otherwise the radio's fine." He set himself to work, pulling out the ingredients for the cornbread and trying to come up with something brilliant to say.

\---

Eliot's collection was mostly old tired country stuff, some rock and roll, some blues. Nothing that came out in the past twenty years, unless he had CD's hidden away somewhere. Alec didn't feel like rummaging around, though, and he'd probably been gone too long already, so he turned the radio on and found the oldies station he sometimes threw on when he was feeling nostalgic. It would do, at least, and maybe it would set Eliot at ease.

He slipped back into the kitchen to find Eliot struggling to keep a bowl in place with the arm that should have been back in its sling, so he hurried forward to grab the whisk.

"I _got_ it," Eliot grumbled, sheepish, but annoyed, too, and Alec realized a moment too late that he wasn't so keen on being seen like he was, that he was totally self-conscious, so he did the only logical thing, and ignored it completely.

"How long should I keep stirring for?"

"Until the bigger lumps are out," Eliot watched the bowl, for a moment, before nodding and heading back to the table, moving gingerly. "That's good. Just dump it all in the pan, it's ready to go."

Cornbread set to baking, he snagged the sling off the counter and tossed it over to Eliot. "Put that back on, you're making me nervous." Something sarcastic slid across Eliot's eyes, but he did as he was told, and Alec watched, waiting

So intent was he on getting the sling into place, he seemed surprised to find Alec standing in his space. He kissed back, though, after just the slightest of delays and when Alec pulled back to reach for his beer, he was laughing, a bit.

"What's so funny?"

"This," Eliot shrugged. "Everything. You."

"Me?"

Eliot shrugged, sipping at his beer, and cocked his head. "Okay, fine. _Me_ ," he admitted. "Don't know what I'm doing, here. Thinking too much."

There were a lot of things Alec could have said to blow right past that, and he opened his mouth to do so, but he stopped. Thought it through, for once. There was a lot of shit that was left hanging, after the past few days, and it wasn't likely to go away on it's own.

 _And man, you've been dense. Kidnappings, bombs, bodies. Never mind the fact that he's still got to be a little hung up on the entire guy factor. Ease up._

"Stop it," Eliot said, out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Now _you're_ thinking too damned much. Trying to solve it. Won't work."

"You have any better ideas?"

Eliot grinned, and there was no way for him to know it, but the flush spreading up towards his ears was kind of adorable. "The kissin' was a good start."

The man had a point.

\---

For being so damned premeditated, kissing Hardison still managed to have some sort of calming effect. Like they'd figured out the basics, and all that was left to do now was let the rest fall where it would. And keep an eye on the cornbread, make sure it didn't burn.

It was a near thing, though, and Hardison looked smug, watching Eliot darting towards the oven to find that the bread was a little burnt, on one edge, but it was nothing that couldn't be salvaged.

\---

Dinner had gone better than the cooking had, and Alec insisted on doing the dishes, if only because one, it was polite, and two, watching Eliot fumble around would be the quickest way to destroy the stride they'd found. He listened, as he set the last of the dishes aside, as Eliot continued his story.

"…so I found the guy, but he ran out the front. Slipped on the ice and bowled over two cops, no kidding. All I had to do was slip out the back. I wound up running through the background of some news crew's shot. Saw it the next morning, but nobody ever put two and two together." Eliot finished, laughing, and Alec pretended not to be impressed, heading to the fridge for another round, before following him into the living room.

Somewhere in between the kitchen and the couch, the conversation had died, gotten tripped up on the threshold, and Alec had to stop himself from backing into the hallway to see if he could retrieve it. It wasn't tense, yet, the silence hadn't gone that long, but already it was showing the signs of permanence, so Alec did the only thing he could think of, and hoped for the best.

\---

He'd been going on, telling old war stories like they were really more interesting than watching the shift of Hardison's muscles underneath his shirt. Babbling, because it kept Hardison listening, and when he laughed, his entire face would light up. It was really something to look at.

But he'd slipped up, finished one story without having another lined up, and now they were going to have to start all over again. Get whatever easiness they'd found back.

Hardison, on the other hand, came to stand in front of him, instead of joining him on the couch, and whatever Eliot had been thinking this was going to be, it was starting to look a little more like what he wanted. Like Hardison had figured it out, without anyone needing to say so.

Finally. It felt like something was about to happen.

By the time Eliot's reached out to touch, he only felt the brush of Hardison's body sliding down until he landed, kneeling between his knees. Eliot slid his hand up, catching slightly at the thin material of shirt as he swept against muscles and bone and skin. He curled his fingers against Hardison's side, but feeling him breathe was a bit too much, or not enough, and he continued his journey up towards his chest, throat, ear, temple. He splayed his fingers across the back of Hardison's head, dragging him close enough to kiss.

He could feel Hardison's arms winding loosely around his hips, hands stroking heavily at the small of his back as their mouths finally met.

\---

Eliot's mouth against his own was vehement, spice and beer as he crushed against him, muscles gone rigid, thighs pressing tight against his hips. He couldn't escape if he wanted to, and his own fingers clutched and pressed a bit more tightly, deliberate and final, because it wasn't every day he got to hang on to something he wanted this much.

It felt like he was pushing his luck- again- and coming out ahead, so he pushed it a bit more, pulling at Eliot until there was no more room between them, not even room enough for questions, because it seemed like they knew what was coming next.

And already, it was becoming too much, too much friction and pressure and Eliot was shoving at him, trying for a better angle, manic until he found it. He turned the game around, deepening the kiss, for long moments that had Alec's chest too terrified to breathe, to stop, to do anything but this, suffocation be damned.

Alec skimmed back up along Eliot's spine, coming to rest at the back of his neck. The skin was just barely damp with sweat underneath all that hair, feeling it sliding between his fingers as they moved. Something in Eliot seemed loosened in response, so he did it again, slowing that mouth with his own, quieting them both. Easing just enough that Eliot could rock his head to the side, slide his lips torturously down against his throat.

Opening his eyes, fingers carding through Eliot's hair again, he could see the shell of his ear, hot and red. Wondering just how low that flush went, he traced it clumsily with the side of his thumb.

\---

Overheated, he kept close, averting his own eyes and hoping Hardison would ignore the blushing, and did his best to pretend he wasn't embarrassed and happy and freaking the hell out. The vertigo that had been coming and going for weeks, now, whenever he thought about it, had nothing on the dizziness washing over him now that he actually had it crashing back against him.

Slowly, he was being pushed against the sofa, deliberately, tangling with Hardison until they were sprawled lengthwise along the sofa. There was a momentary wrench at his shoulder, but Hardison seemed aware of it, easing around it, like they'd done this a hundred times before, like this wasn't the first time.

And then he distracted him, friction and warmth all along his body, radiating back up and into his spine. The barest hint of teeth worried at the skin just behind his collar, and he found himself grinding his hips up to press into Hardison's. The hiss he elicited was almost enough to have him undone, but some small part of him was damned if he was going to go it alone.

It was all catching up to him as his hand slipped down to Hardison's waistband and got lost, not knowing what the hell he was supposed to do. What Hardison wanted, where the lines were drawn. His fingertips caught again at the edge of his fly, skirting it once, then again. He knew he was hesitating, but Hardison was pushing down to tangle with his fingers. Grasping them into stillness, he waited for Eliot to look at him.

"Clothes don't have to come off," he murmured, breathing heavy. Poised over him, inches away, he could see the reluctant concern, there, the question, and all he wanted to do was lunge up and kiss him quiet again, but unless he wanted to risk wrenching his shoulder, he was pinned.

 _I'm fine_ , he glared, before twisting his wrist free and regaining a hold on Hardison's waistband, slipping just under the material. Hardison's stomach twitched against his knuckles, and he thumbed the button free. Another twist of the wrist and he found the zipper, dragging it down as Hardison waited, tense and frozen above him. Sliding down again, a little more pressure this time, brushing once, experimentally, against him, warm through the cotton.

Hardison surprised him, jerking back out of reach. Straddling his leg, his thigh pressed tight against Eliot with more friction than he could bear, almost painful, and then it was gone, and Hardison's hands were both free, now, worrying at the straps to his sling, sweeping the hem of his shirt up over his stomach, stroking the skin there.

Blood was pounding in his ears as he tried to move, get closer, do _something_ to stop feeling so damned exposed, but Hardison was already at work on his fly, tugging his jeans open before sighing his irritation.

"Hang on a sec," he said, and eased back, up and off the couch before Eliot could protest.

\---

Eliot was going to kill him if he didn't hurry, that much was plain, but it wasn't like he didn't already have plenty of motivation on his own. Right now the damned jeans, _all_ of 'em, had to go. Jerking his own down, he stepped on the cuffs to extract himself. Knowing exactly how ridiculous he must 've looked, he hurried to finish. Crouching next to the couch, he leaned over and caught at Eliot's lips again as he tried to do the same for him.

It was awkward and fumbling and about as graceful as a horse on rollerskates, but they worked it out, and soon enough, he was thrusting Eliot's jeans towards the general vicinity of his shoes, and climbing back onto the couch, only to find Eliot tugging at his shirt, telling him _this goes, too._. Once that was dealt with, he contemplated trying to return the favor, but Eliot had other ideas, dragging him close again, next to him on the couch, mouthing kisses into his chest and shoulder, and he'd been too far away, anyhow.

Brushing Eliot's hair back from the sweat at his temple, he pressed a kiss into his hairline before sliding his hand down. Carefully, over the shoulder, then more insistent as he reached his destination.

Eliot was the quiet type. This wasn't surprising, but when he stroked the material of his shirt up and out of the way, brushing over the inside of Eliot's hip, he was close enough to hear his breath catch, even before the shudder came, inviting him to do it again.

So he did, deliberately, and Eliot surged against him, then, grabbing roughly at his hip and grinding close before settling, hard against him.

\---

Hardison's hands were everywhere, stroking down along his hip, teasing in, and then diverting their agonizing course to skim along the fabric of his boxers, brushing along the leg opening and tugging, just a bit.

He was waiting for permission, Eliot realized, maybe even waiting for him to freak out or something, come to some startling realization, but really? He was just waiting for him to get _on_ with it, already. He nodded tightly against a shoulder, broader and warmer than his own, and took two breaths before reaching out to touch Hardison again. Rougher, this time, deliberate. The most direct answer he could come up with.

Because it wasn't like Eliot was going into this blind. Hardison was solid, stronger than he usually carried himself, and there was no way to ignore that, not this close up, even with how carefully Hardison kept clear of his injuries.

It was frustrating, though, not being able to move like he wanted, not being able to push back, flip this around and take the lead, map him out all that skin and muscle and bone, find out the things he _didn't_ already know about Hardison's body, because he _really_ wanted to.

As it was, now, his own movements were small, insubstantial things, pathetic responses to the storm, and he wished he didn't know it.

He managed to curl his fingers, palming him tightly through the fabric, he spared a thought to be relieved at how weird this _wasn't_ feeling, but then Hardison moaned, more like a sigh, and _fuck_ , that sound had never been so hot before. And maybe he was getting the hang of this, but Hardison was apparently done playing around now, dragging his whole hand up against him, once, all the way up to the base of his stomach before pressing down below the elastic, gripping him bare, and he might have lost it, a little bit, for a minute, but he wasn't sure.

\---

Eliot nearly whined, covering it with growl as he yanked, sharply, at Alec's waistband, tugging insistently. His angle wasn't great for doing much more, but the message couldn't be clearer.

 _Off. Rightthefucknow._

He rose up on his elbow, and there were uncoordinated hips, distracted hands, and a tangle of legs to contend with, but then, _finally_ , there was nothing but skin, threatening to cool.

Sliding his thigh over to straddle Eliot, he crushed them back together, grinding direct, felt him grabbing at his side and sliding splayed fingers roughly over his back. Alec followed the lead down, catching wild eyes for just a fraction of a second, and fell back into another rough kiss.

Their mouths were warring, open and slick, all hot breath and tongue and teeth as they slid experimentally against each other, once, and again and again, but it wasn't enough. Both, maybe, were too tense to find any sort of rhythm, so after one slow long thrust of his hips, Alec made himself stop, tight against Eliot, and deepened the kiss until he felt muscles loosen beneath him.

Another few moments, and Eliot's thighs relaxed, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to allow that last millimeter that had been missing, and when Alec shifted again, Eliot rose to meet him. Seamless.

He wasn't going to last much longer, but he still had a little luck left to press.

\---

Hardison changed the game up, again, easing back enough to wrap, awkwardly, around them both, and _fuck_ it was good, feeling that slide next to close-pressed hips, a thousand shifting frictions and he wasn't going to last long.

\---

Eliot had gone slack, but his breathing was sharp, stuttering, harsh against his ear. The flush radiated down from his ears, along his throat to disappear under his collar, and sometime, soon, they really needed to do something about that shirt, if only to see just how much blood was rising to his skin, to see watch his breath, see the muscles jump under his touch.

But not right now, because Alec felt himself crashing down again, curling his head against the armrest to look down at the two of them. Eliot's arm, curled against his chest, the damnable shirt and his own wrist shifting beneath, and _holy shit_ , he was doing this, and Eliot, ready to go, was going to be his own undoing, and all he had to do was puzzle it out. Decode the catching breath, apply the right turn of the wrist, _don't get distracted, now, pay attention_.

\---

 _Fuck_ , he was close. The sliding had gone slick and hot and so damned _easy_ , and he wanted more, _anything_ , to fuck, to _be_ fucked, to never think again and just _feel_ , too many things all at once, Hardison's breath warm on his throat, fuck, _keening_ , and he was falling under the onslaught, losing and winning and not going down alone.  



	20. Epilogue

  
**3 DAYS LATER**

Eliot had called to tell him he was running late, so Alec wasn't expecting to find him when he entered the bar. He also wasn't ready for Ron's third degree.

"Hey, jerk." Ron grabbed him by the arms and shoved him into the booth, before sitting himself down next to Lee. "What the hell was that, the other week? That was the coldest stand-up I've ever seen, even from _you_."

"Relax, man, it's cool. Something came up."

"So where you been?"

"You know how it is. Around." He kept his hands below the table. The scabs on his knuckles were mostly healed, now, but they didn't need advertising. "And I didn't stand him up, Eliot's meeting me here in a bit." He twisted over his shoulder to see a table opening up over by the windows, but Lee must have seen him considering them, because he nudged Ron, who moved around the table, sliding in next to Alec, pinning him in.

"Well, you don't mind, we're going to keep an eye on you until he does," he waved for the waiter, asking for their tab, while Lee frowned, puzzled. "So what the hell, man. You gonna tell us anything?"

"Wasn't planning on it, no," Alec hurried to change the subject. "How've you guys been?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Nothing strange at all. Not like _some_ people who disappear without a trace and show up like Elvis, out of the blue, like nothing's going on."

"Elvis? _Seriously_?"

"What d'you got against Elvis?" Eliot chuckled behind him, but Alec was glaring at Ron, now, who was grinning shamelessly. "You done babysitting now? 'Cause we don't need no chaperone."

"Don't give him any ideas," Lee grinned, sliding out of the booth, waving at Ron. "We've got to get going, anyway. Come on."

Alec followed Ron out of the booth. "Where you guys off to?"

"James' going away party," Lee frowned. "Didn't you hear about it?"

"He's still in town?" It was surprising to hear, actually. He'd expected James to be long gone, but he hadn’t started looking. He was still a few weeks out from knowing what to _do_ about him when he caught his trail.

"Ah, so you knew that he got the job?"

"Where's that?" Eliot asked, following Alec's lead. "What's he doin'?"

"Miami," Ron frowned. "I, ah. Don't know. Actually…"

"Figured he's going to tell us tonight," Lee trailed off, eyes darting warily in Eliot's direction before landing on Alec. "Actually, ah. We kind of figured he was going to announce that you two were eloping, after you guys disappeared together."

Alec was dumbstruck, but from the looks of it, Eliot wasn't doing much better, though he hadn't been derailed. "Don't think so."

"Ah. Right. Yeah, of course," Ron shrugged. "Well, whatever it is, we'll find out in a bit. We should probably get heading over there."

"Right on, right on." Alec smiled, though he didn't want to. "See you guys around, man."

Ron and Lee left, and the seats by the windows were looking a lot less inviting, so Alec followed Eliot to the back, instead, mentally kicking himself before he'd even sat down. This had seemed like such a good idea two hours ago, but Eliot was on edge, again. Angry.

"Yo, man. You alright?"

"Fine," Eliot said, ordering a pitcher with two glasses when the waiter came. He smirked, though, once he was gone. "Ain't no rest for the wicked, man. How you want to play this?"

"Play _what_?" Alec asked, habitual contrariness rearing its head. "Don't even know what to do with him when I _find_ him."

\---

"I've got a few ideas," Eliot replied, realizing how grim he'd sounded when Alec's face registered the threat. _Fuck it_. "Soon as they get over there, they're going to be talking to him. He's gonna know that you're back, and he's going to bolt."

"Somewhere other than Miami?"

"Don't know. He know what you can do?"

"Everyone here thinks I'm a freelance programmer. Only way he'd know more is if someone told him."

"Which could be a possibility. We’re gonna have to catch him before he blows town."

"And then what? Pulverize him?" Hardison scowled, not liking the idea, or at least not _wanting_ to like it.

"Works for me." Eliot nodded, but maybe there was something more to Hardison's disagreement. _Least you didn't suggest killing the bastard_ , he told himself. Hardison's fingers were twitching over his shirt pocket, but Eliot already knew why, so he asked, "You got your phone on you?" He was proven right, as the phone was produced, and already fingers were flying.

The waiter came back with the beers, and by the time Eliot had them poured, Hardison had found what he wanted. "He's got movers coming in, day after tomorrow, and he's flying out that night." He was still intent on his phone, but Eliot could see the gears turning. Whatever hang-ups he'd had over this were gone, now, and the predatory grin that spread over his face was really something. And it was a hell of a lot more when Hardison's eyes actually met his. "We've got time. How do we get him?"

\---

Over the course of one-and-a-half pitchers, with Eliot sitting next to him in the booth, he'd managed to change James' tickets to an earlier flight, cause enough chaos in last year's taxes that an auditor was probably already on route, and add four warrants in three states to his record. It had been Eliot's idea to re-route the movers to Miami, Oklahoma, though, but Alec could have gotten there eventually.

In three days, the time-delayed transfer of James' accounts would go down, an amount large enough to catch the eye of several law enforcement agencies monitoring the affairs of the recipient, a known Bolivian drug trafficker who had no idea what was about to hit him. And from two separate companies, he'd ordered singing telegrams to wake him up at five thirty in the morning for the next two days, which was just as well, since his power was about to be shut off.

Eliot's laughter was trailing off into a cough, finally, his eyes still crinkled at the edges and his face a little flushed, which set Alec back to thinking about the other conditions under which the same result could be observed, but instead of pointing it out, he kissed his phone.

"Age of the geek, baby," he decreed, before sliding it back into his pocket, but Eliot's sarcastic retort never arrived. Swiveling his head to look at him, though, there was no cause to worry.

Eliot was looking at him like he was Superman, at least until he got caught. Then he just leaned sideways, like he had something to say, waving Alec a little bit closer, catching his jaw and kissing him soft on the lips. Right there in public. If _public_ meant the back corner booth in a dimly lit bar at one in the morning on a Tuesday.

It wasn't how Alec had seen the night going, but it was still seven sorts of awesome.

\---  
\---

 **2 WEEKS LATER**

It was still early, by most people's standards, but Hardison was waiting in the driveway when Eliot got back from physical therapy, headphones cable trailing up from the pocket of his green hooded sweatshirt. More importantly, he'd remembered to bring coffee. "How'd it go?"

"Torturous, boring, but good. If I keep up at this rate, I'll be back to full form in six months," he lied, shaving a few off the top. Tossing his keys on the table inside, he rotated his arm in the socket. Already it was feeling stiff. "No more of this backup shit."

"Six months? That's not so bad," Hardison shoved him into a chair, and when he said it like that, Eliot kind of started believing it. The warm hands working his neck and shoulders might have helped. A bit.

\---

 _"…Human remains, identified as the missing Dr. Edward Hastings, have been recovered from a New Jersey landfill. The medical examiner's office ruled his death a suicide, though the man's disappearance had been puzzling police for some time. Dr. Hastings was last seen just over two weeks ago, at a ceremony where he was awarded an award of several million dollars, to be used in the reconstruction of a hospital in Kadwe, ten miles northeast of Dawei, in Myanmar. The case has garnered some international attention, as audits of Dr. Hastings' overseas accounts in the wake of his disappearance have uncovered several connections to organized crime, graft, and corruption. Even so, there have been no leads as to what occurred the night of his disappearance, and investigators remain puzzled…"_

Another day or so, and it dropped out of the papers entirely. Even with Alec's continued monitoring of the situation, and his repeated assurances, it was a week before Eliot sat still for more than two minutes at a time.

And he'd almost bolted, once. Saying it was for the best, for Alec's own good. It hadn't been a good night.

Now, though, the fight was a week old, nominally at least. Alec sat in the living room, keeping his eyes carefully on his screen, trying to figure out what was going on, what he was doing there. He'd said what he could, days before, and he'd decided not to let it bother him. Regardless.

Right now, though, it was probably more important that he keep his mouth shut, pretend he hadn't noticed Eliot hauling the suitcase up to his bedroom.

Upstairs, another drawer slid shut, and Eliot was coming down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen, and returned with a handful of takeout menus in one hand, two bottles of beer in the other.

It didn't feel like much of a peace offering, at least until Eliot joined him on the couch, closer than he'd been in a week, and asking, "They kick off yet?"

"Nah, man, they're still going over the pre-game," Alec scowled at the laptop screen. He really needed to talk Eliot into picking up a television one of these days. "You know where do you want to order from?"

\---

 **1 MONTH LATER**

"Eliot says _hi,_ " Nate ignored the impending nervous breakdown that was about to take place in his kitchen. Because Eliot had been right. _Too_ damned right. Hardison had oversold the part. He'd been cocky. Annoying. So Eliot had given Parker a ride from the lab. And he'd been focused on the dressing-down he'd be giving Hardison on the way to the game that he'd left Hardison behind.

Let him get taken.

He hadn't been fucking _thinking_. Hardison hadn't been the only cocky one. And if it wasn't for the fact _Nate_ , at least, had kept a level head, hadn't shoved his earpiece in his pocket, they'd still have no goddamn idea.

None at all. It wouldn't have happened if Eliot had been doing his goddamned _job_.

\---

Without Eliot operating at one hundred percent, this entire job had come entirely too soon. Sophie couldn't have sprained her ankle at a worse time. It hadn't stopped Alec from jumping at the chance to go on the grift, though, but it probably should have.

And he _definitely_ should have listened to Eliot when he'd told him, point blank, that he was playing the Ice Man too big. But it hadn't stuck. Maybe he'd become inured to Eliot's constant grumbling, these days. About being bored, about needing to get back into the game. About the host of stupid and minor things that filled his days.

Finally getting him out on a job had seemed like a solution, there, for a while.

 _Sometimes_ , Alec had to admit, faking another strike to Eliot's chest, trying not to do anything that would set his physical therapy course back, _he's actually pissed for a good reason_.

He was honestly a little surprised that Eliot didn't deck him, for real, just to prove the point.

\---

"Det cord," was all Eliot felt like explaining until they'd gained a little ground from the blast site. Parker was up ahead, turning into the tunnel that led out towards where Nate was waiting, and Eliot found himself wishing, desperately, that they were off comms.

The instant Parker was around the corner, he stopped short and grabbed Hardison's arms, shoving him against the dirty wall. Surprised, Hardison made like he was about to speak, but a sharp shake of the head later, he was snapping his jaw shut.

Hardison was unnerved but uninjured. Even if Eliot's recovery timeline had been pushed back a little, they were fine. Would be, once they got out of here.

"Don't," was all Eliot could think to say, yanking him forward again, wrapping both arms around him, tight. Felt a little bit better when Hardison's arms crossed his back, returning the pressure.

It didn't stop him glaring, though, as he stepped back, or smacking him upside the head as they continued towards the opening.

\---  
\---

"Got a question for you," Eliot asked one day, about two months into this. Thing. They had going on. Relationship. Whatever.

"Shoot." Hardison was tying equipment cords to the inside of the van with plastic cable ties. Soon as that was done, they were ready to load in and head over to the lot across the street from the bank.

Nate was crossing the parking lot towards them, and if he wanted to ask, he had to get it out. Now. "So, like. Should I start calling you Alec now, or what?"

"Huh?"

"You want me to start using your first name?"

"What?" Hardison scowled in amusement as he clipped the end off the tie and hopped out of the van. "Sure. If you want." He, too, noticed Nate's approach, but kept talking. "Whatever. I mean, everyone _knows_ last names sound more badass than first names."

"My last name's _Spencer_ , man, so your theory's blown right there," he rolled his eyes, wishing he'd never asked.

"It would be if your name wasn't _Eliot_." Hardison pulled a face, rolling his eyes like he couldn't believe nobody else, in the entire world, had figured this out. "Name like that, you should be drinking with your _pinky_ out, or somethin'."

"Right, well," Nate coughed, pretending not to be amused at Eliot's glare. "If I'm not interrupting the tea party, you guys about ready to go?"

\---

 **3 MONTHS LATER**

Alec was scanning through the alerts on his computer, thinking absently that he really needed to clear out some of the old requests, when an article caught his eye. "Seems like they're moving on without Hastings," he said, scrolling down through the article. "After the audit, people went through and cleaned everything up. They're starting up the grant writing again. For real, this time."

"What do you mean?" Eliot looked up from his book, a little annoyed at the interruption.

"Got into Hastings' financials. Man was dirty as all hell. You know how many hospitals he could have bought, for what he spent chasing you?"

"No." Eliot turned pointedly back to his book.

 _He really doesn't want to be listenin' to all this_ , Alec realized, too late. "Well. One or two, if they were small. But still."

Eliot didn't look away, not exactly, but it was a close thing. "Wasn't like he didn't have reasons."

It wasn't a surprising response, not after all this time. Alec was almost getting used to having to argue the point. "That's as may be, but it _was_ like he had bombs, hired thugs, and wanted to roll around in your guts. _He_ was the bad guy, man. Not you."

"Thanks, but." Eliot rolled his head on his neck, a reluctantly curious look on his face. "You mind showing me what you got on him?"

"Sure thing," Alec copied everything into an email and sent it along. "Should be in your inbox any second," he switched screens, and went back to the files he'd pulled for Nate's next target.

Eliot crossed to pick up his laptop, and then he was quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

\---

 **4 MONTHS LATER**

Apollo came into town, and what was supposed to be a triple date in celebration of Dalton Rand's arrest became a hatchet job on a local dog-fighting ring instead.

Nate was on the phone calling out for late-night Chinese, while Parker was describing to Sophie and Apollo the two guys she'd taken down, demonstrating with overenthusiastic air-punches.

"Least we didn't have to dress for dinner," Alec reasoned, still sounding a little stoned, wincing as he tried and failed to catch the ice pack Eliot tossed him.

"Whatever, man," he grumbled, heading back to the fridge for one of the beers Apollo had brought.

If he'd gotten around Dulane's brothers sooner, if he could've just dropped _one_ of them before they'd known he was there, Alec wouldn't have had to fend for himself. Wouldn't be sitting here in Nate's kitchen, smelling like hospital soap. Wouldn't have needed so many damned stitches.

"That's the last time Parker gets to choose the restaurant," Apollo muttered in irritation, reaching in around him to grab himself a bottle. "Fucking crazy-ass mutts."

\---

 **5 MONTHS LATER**

The banter in the car had become a full-blown shitstorm by the time they made it in the door. Far as Eliot could tell, Hardison had gotten offended somewhere in between discussion the _last_ job and the _next_ one, which, if he'd had his way, would entail taking the redeye out to Chicago to run game on the Gangster Disciples. Solo. Before Nate and Sophie even got back into town.

And his plan, to destabilize the entire power structure, was completely idiotic, but the kid wouldn't see reason, wouldn't even admit that it would most likely lead to an all-out war, and even _more_ people would get hurt.

And Hardison was taking Eliot's disagreement way too personally, storming off into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. For his part, Eliot paced from the living room to the front door and back again, repeating the circuit for a while as the rest of the argument played out in his head. His hand found his phone no less than five times, and twice he got as far as pulling up Nate's number, but the man needed the break. This could wait.

Twenty minutes or an hour later, and he'd cooled off enough to deal, his feet bringing him to the bedroom door. It wasn't locked, though, and that was probably all the invitation he could expect right now. Alec lay on the bed with his feet on the wall, headphones on and eyes closed, but he knew Eliot was there. He was just avoiding him.

It was damned irritating, so Eliot sat down on the bed next to him and yanked the headphones from the mp3 player. Alec's reaction was exactly what he'd expected.

"What the hell's your problem, man?" he launched himself up and grabbed at his ipod, momentarily forgetting to ignore Eliot.

"What the. What's _my_ problem?" he shook his head in disbelief and transferred it to his other hand, out of reach. _Such a goddamn kid sometimes_. "Seriously, Hardison. My problem is. I fuckin' _love_ you, alright? And I don't need you going off and getting killed doin' something stupid." Alec was about to complain, but Eliot didn't leave him the opening. "Nate will be back in three days. It'll keep. We'll get a real plan together and maybe nobody else will have to get caught up in it."

"Three days?" Alec sounded like he was actually considering it, now, so Eliot counted the win.

"Three and a half, you count in time for planning."

"Yeah," Alec eventually said, falling back down against the mattress and rubbing a hand over his face, squinting against the light. "Love you too, you know."

\--- 

 **6 MONTHS LATER**

Alec had been trying for an hour now, but he still hadn't been able to pick the lock Parker had set in front of him. She'd long since tired of watching him fail, and was watching Nate instead, flipping through cases in the living room.

"So Eliot. Seems the Trevor Hastings Memorial Hospital's capital campaign received an anonymous donation. Five million dollars," Sophie remarked as she set the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Alec watched Eliot rummaging through the cupboards, feigning disinterest. "Oh yeah? Huh. Hey Nate? You still got that sea salt I brought over?"

Nate mumbled distractedly, but Parker was close enough to translate. "Second cabinet from the left, middle shelf."

\---

 **7 MONTHS LATER**

Three days into the job, and Eliot still hadn't said anything. This time around, Alec knew better than to bring it up.

It had been Nate who'd clued him in, last week at the briefing, when he'd asked Eliot if he was sure he was up for the job. He'd said he'd been fine, and maybe he had been, but that was days ago, before the job did what it always did, veering off course to bring them to now.

Alec was monitoring comms from an unused office in the museum. If he went to the window, he'd be able to see Nate loitering by the gate, waiting for Sophie to arrive with the mark. Eliot, Alec knew, was watching from the other side of the reflecting pool, while Parker was downstairs, still getting herself into position.

He cursed to himself, wishing like hell that Sophie could have convinced the mark that the memorial for the Oklahoma City bombing wouldn't be the best place to meet up. Wishing that he had the first idea what to say to Eliot, when this was over.

\---

He didn't have to say much, as it turned out. Once the mark was led off in handcuffs, and after Sophie promised that they'd handle the cleanup, Alec headed around to the field of empty chairs, memorials to the victims of the bombing. Eliot was standing towards the end of the second row, and didn't look up when he arrived.

"Never been here before," he admitted, staring in sad puzzlement at the chair that bore his father's name. "It's weird."

"Yeah," Alec agreed, reluctant to intrude further. There wasn't much he could say to that, either.

That night, though, as they sprawled drunkenly on the hotel bed, with the lights off and the curtains open to the city, he asked, and Eliot answered. With his head on Eliot's hip, he listened to stories about the bombing, the recovery attempts. Pressing, here and there, the stories turned to fathers and families, until they dwindled, sometime around dawn.

\---

 **8 MONTHS LATER**

Eliot had been given a clean bill of health, with the usual caveats regarding activities that would lead to re-injury. Like he hadn't been in eleven fights since getting back from New York. He'd just turned his charm on the nurse, probably unaware that he was doing it, promising he'd never do it again. And finally, they were out of there. Maybe it had been twelve, it wasn't like Alec was counting.

"You promised you'd call it in," Alec reminded him, leading the way out of the waiting room and shoving the glass doors open.

"She's not my mom," Eliot scowled, but dug out his phone and dialed. "Hey, Sophie…Yeah. Nah, just got done with the clinic. Yeah. They cleared me." He stopped short, hissing in offence. " _No_ , they _didn't_ give me a note. Like it freakin' matters. Been in seven fights already and I'm fine. _Been_ fine."

Eventually, he ended the call, clearly blaming Alec for the entire conversation.

"Seven fights, huh?"

"Only counts if they get a shot in," Eliot explained, unlocking the car door, and Alec supposed he had a point. Didn't give him the satisfaction of agreeing, though. Eliot was acting smugly enough as it was.

"Wait," Eliot said, suddenly, right as Alec opened the passenger side.

 _Alright. If it's another damned car bomb, I'm gonna have to-_ "What, man?"

Eliot's attention was focused on the street, but there was no telling what had his hackles up. Usually it was nothing. The usual suspicion taking over.

Sometimes he did the same thing when Alec shut a kitchen cupboard too hard.

He thought about bringing it up, sometimes, but then he'd probably have to admit, out loud, to hearing timers counting down in the middle of the night, when it was too quiet. He'd woken Eliot up often enough, unable to sleep, and Eliot never said anything. Even trade.

"Eliot," he said, still standing with the car door half opened, wondering how anyone could space out that much with rush hour zipping by so close.

"Get in the car," Eliot ordered him without turning, breaking out into a gap in the traffic, running across the street.

 _This is new_ , Alec had the time to think, before slamming the door shut and rushing around to wait for another break in the now steady stream of cars.

Eliot was already across the street, and there was movement over on the corner, a shape dodging into an alley, a man in a black sweatshirt, hood up and pulled low, and this entire thing had become something else entirely.

 _Seriously?_

Too many long seconds later, Alec was dodging a sedan, and he didn't stop until he slowed to turn into the alley.

Eliot's hair was flying around him as he dodged low, spinning to plant an elbow into the larger man's chest and following it with a left to the jaw, and a kick to the back of the knee. The man went down, and Alec was blindsided by the strength of his reaction. It was all sorts of wrong, but Eliot was _stunning_ , flipping his hair out the way, alert and stalking like that. He wasn't preening, though. He looked ready to kill.

There was a surprised shout from the sidewalk, a woman in a long brown coat stepping quickly away, hands already going into her purse, digging for her phone, but Eliot wasn't stopping.

Eliot had to have heard it too, but he continued on, baring his teeth furiously as he reeled back to get another kick to the man's side as he tried to crawl away.

" _Eliot!_ " Alec shouted, hurrying forward, unsure what he planned to do next, but stopping a murder before the cops arrived was figuring in, fairly heavily. " _Hey!_ " But Eliot was grabbing the guy, now, shoving him over and following him down, pinning him, and finally going still.

Alec's approach was wary, though. "Yo, man, what the. We gotta-"

The man's hood had been pulled back, his hat knocked askew to reveal a mess of scraggly blonde hair.

"What the _hell_ he asked, again, but this time, he glared down at Dog. "Eliot? Cops are on their way."

"Then we'd better make it quick." Eliot shoved down at Dog's throat before easing up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Looking," Dog coughed. "Looking for you. I'm putting a crew together."

Alec's mind reeled, and even Eliot's eyes flashed in confusion before narrowing again, but he remained silent, and didn't release him. Another few breaths and a wary glance up at Hardison, Dog went back to Eliot. "The Carlyle gig went south, but you kept your head, Spencer. Came looking to see if you wanted in on a flash job."

"Aw, hell, man. You kick him in the head or something?"

"Not yet," Eliot sneered, but he was backing off, slightly, waiting for the explanation as Dog slowly sat up.

"The Carlyle. That was nothing personal. Business is business, and it's over with, now."

Alec rolled his eyes, but at Eliot's warning, kept his mouth shut. _Not personal my ass._

"You tellin' me you ain't looking for a little revenge over your lost payout?"

"The half up front was enough to eat the rest. Like I said. You got us out of there, figured I owed you one, so here we are."

Police sirens were growing closer, but it didn't seem to faze him, even if they had Alec's nerves jumping all over the damned place. "C'mon, man."

Eliot rocked back to stand, brushing at his jeans, decision apparently made. "We're walking out first. I see or hear about you bein' anywhere _near_ my town or my crew again, I'll fucking kill you, you got it?"

Dog nodded, clambering to his feet, before stepping backwards, further into the alley, towards an open basement window.

"Hardison, move," Eliot instructed, shoving him towards the street, following with one eye behind him, and steering him in the general direction of the oncoming sirens. "They get a good look at us?"

"Don't know."

The squad car was turning onto their street, and Eliot grabbed his hand, setting an easy pace up the sidewalk towards it. The car was slowing to a stop, and Alec grabbed hold a little tighter. Eliot's response was to tug at him, a little bit, and kiss him, right there in front of the passing cars, pedestrians, police and everyone.

Alec was too surprised to kiss back, but Eliot didn't seem to mind, waggling his eyebrow as he pulled away.   The police had already passed them by.

"Worked for you and Parker, didn't it?"

\---

Pumped from the fight, Eliot was fucking _beaming_ , the entire drive home. It bore up against the teasing bruise on the side of his face, and Alec had to stop looking at him if he wanted to get through the phone call to Nate with a straight face, himself.

He fared a little better at home, where he was finally able to kiss him _properly_ , until they were both running low on clothes and breath.

But then Eliot was pinning him down on the bed, strong hands pressing his wrists down into the mattress, hair throwing his face into shadow but for a glint of teeth as he came down to slide roughly against hot skin, and Alec decided several things.

That watching Eliot fight had, somewhere along the line, become a massive turn-on.

That anything that got Eliot this hot and bothered was a good thing.

That maybe all Eliot's self-satisfaction had been worth it, though the word  _predatory_  could just as easily be applied.

And that if Eliot wanted to keep proving that he was fine, now, that he was better, then the best option was to let him do it.

Repeatedly.

\---

 **9 MONTHS LATER**

Eliot wasn't sure what it was that set him off, but he had plenty of options. The pride parade, the thought that Alec had suggested going, or the fact that he'd been visibly disappointed that Eliot hadn't wanted to, but hadn't fought him on it. The fact that he'd let it turn into such a big deal in the first place.

Waving the bartender down, he caught sight of the news on the television, up in the corner. Feathers and weird costumes, guys running around in their underwear, flags waving.

It wasn't his scene. Didn't mean he was, like, ashamed or anything.

Down at the edge of the bar, four rowdy college kids, from New Hampshire, if the Wildcats logos were anything to go by, were crowing at the television, and every other word out of their mouth was _faggot_ or _homo_. It soon gave way to a serious discussion about how _lesbians were hot, though_ , and after a while, they moved on to something else, but not before one or two of them glanced in his direction, grinning easily. Maybe they'd thought all the queers were at the parade.

Queer was a really fucking weird thing to call yourself.

He should have just fucking gone home, instead of pulling over in Quincy. There was beer in the fridge, and steaks in the freezer that needed defrosting, and needed it soon, if he was going to have them on the grill by the time Alec came over.

\---

 **10 MONTHS LATER**

Some nights there were explosions, and Eliot would wake up, fast and sudden and sweat-soaked, next to him. If he came back to bed at all, it was only after the room- whatever room, his, Alec's, or the hotel's- was secured. When he did eventually return to bed, though, he let Alec fuss over him some, let himself be reminded that he was back in his own skin, and wouldn't even complain.

Some nights there was only the countdown, and Alec didn't sleep at all, he'd just lie there, trying not to wake Eliot, trying to remain still. Eliot knew, though, he always did, and by about noon the next day, he'd shove a bowl of ramen onto Alec's desk while telling him exactly how unhealthy it was, or drag his ass out to crash with him in front of the TV.

The sounds were still there, they just didn't stick around like they used to.

\---

 **11 MONTHS LATER**

His suitcase was in the closet, and his keys were on the hall table downstairs. Most days, he didn't think about them, much, anymore. Just sometimes, sitting up on too-early mornings like this. Staring at the empty street for shadows and thinking too much.

About how much worse it would be next time. Nate had been talking about going after the mayor again last night, and it had been all Sophie could do to rein him in. It was a miracle they'd lasted this long.

 _"One show only,"_ he'd said once, back when it had been easier to mean it.

Or how he'd broken every single rule he'd set up for himself, starting out. Did all the things that should've gotten him- gotten _all_ of them killed. Got involved. Stayed too long. Told the truth. Trusted.

 _No encores_.

By the end of the day he could be anywhere. A thousand miles away. The car was in the garage, waiting.

"What're you doin' up so early?"

And Alec was over on the bed, sheets rucked down low over his waist, squinting at the clock in distaste.

 _Thinking that I've outlived myself_. "Nothing," Eliot waved the book he'd been ignoring for the past hour, but Alec's eyes had closed again.

"Wrong answer. You're supposed to say you're making the damn coffee." Alec mumbled, but he was already getting up. Detouring sleepily to press an uncoordinated kiss into the side of his head, he staggered towards the bathroom to turn the shower on.

Like it was nothing. Something to take for granted.

Like it just _was_.

It wasn't the sort of thing Eliot would talk about, but it sort of blew his mind, 'cause he sort of got it.

He hadn't outlived himself, but he'd lived it all down.

And over there, in the next room, was something he wanted to live up to.

\---

 **12 MONTHS LATER**

 _Playa del Carmen, maybe._

Wincing as he sat down again on the unforgiving floor of the van, Eliot finished packing up the last of the equipment, wondering where Alec wanted the boxes stowed. The entryway would do for now, though. They were on a timeline, as Nate was reminding them, once again.

"Hardison? Where are you at with the pictures?"

"The pictures? Oh, you mean my masterful forgeries of the great Orphist painter, Robert Delaunay, perfect to the last detail? That made me miss sleep for three days straight? _Those_ pictures?" Alec snorted in exasperation. "Putting the last touches on now. Thirty minutes. Fifteen if you're careful, and I mean _really_ damn careful."

 _Huatulco._

"I'll be careful," Eliot grumbled, again, dropping the last of the boxes and heading back towards Alec's studio. "Hey Nate? You know they won't hold up to anything past a cursory glance, right?" He frowned apologetically at Alec, because they looked dead-on, and he hadn't been lying about the lack of sleep, but the medium was all wrong, and he knew it.

"It doesn't need to, they just need to see it being loaded out of the van. Okay. Miss Reinbold has just arrived at the airport. Parker, how are we coming on the originals?"

From a ledge on the east side of town, Parker replied. "The real one is inside. I am outside. I could be inside making nice with my new friends, but _someone_ won't stop Janousek from talking!"

Alec was finally rolling away from the easel, pressing his the heel of his hands into his eyes gingerly, mindful of the paint staining his hands. He didn't seem to notice the vivid wisp of half-dried blue on the back of his neck, but Eliot was having a hard time taking his away.

 _Petit St. Vincent?_

Stepping up behind the chair, careful to avoid the paint, he wrapped his hands tight over Alec's collarbone, gripping tightly. After a moment, he could feel the muscles start to give, just a bit, beneath the thin stained shirt. When Alec rocked his head back to look up at him, he leaned down to catch at his mouth, but only for a second. No more, or he'd be sliding down to his knees again, spinning the chair around like he'd done early this morning, when he'd needed to distract Alec, get his overtired ass to bed.

When he'd just needed him.

Sophie giggled a little bit loudly as she suggested that perhaps the mark would like to continue the conversation at the bistro down the block. "He's getting his coat," Parker muttered, quietly, and that was their cue.

He drove his thumbs up alongside the top of his spine, pressing up towards his skull, and Alec's eyes closed in contentment before opening again. "Move your ass," Alec started to stand up, flicking his hands away tiredly. _Move_!"

"All right, all right," Eliot laughed, stepping back. That settled it. Soon as this job was done and they'd slept for a week, he was dragging Alec away from all of this. Paint was great, but water and sand and sun-heated skin would be a nice change of pace. _Monte Cristi_. "Help me load in?"

"What, I got to do everything around here?" Alec smirked, before launching himself out of the chair.

 _Manzanillo, definitely_.

\---

 _THE END._


End file.
